Coffee is more addicting than nicotine. Or perhaps, I've just purposely developed a coffee addiction that rivals a potential nicotine addiction in order to avoid the latter. I get asked a lot of questions about my coffee addiction. The biggest false assumption, however, is that I have a caffeine addiction. This is flat out erroneously false. The concept of placebo is critical to understanding my addiction. Coffee itself, is the primary addiction. Now naturally, there is no exclusive drug in coffee that makes it addicting. Caffeine is the drug that makes me come back to it. But if I were addicted to caffeine, wouldn't I be able to take caffeine pills and get the same satisfaction out of it? I would assume this to be the case. Caffeine on it's own does nothing for me except shoot my nerves to insane levels, which only leads to me smoking cigarettes. Coffee, on the other hand, gives me the boost I need but still calms me down. Light roast, specifically. It's placebo, sure, but if I'm feeling better because of my coffee and it stops me from lighting up, isn't that better in the end? Similarly, I imagine that some smokers experience a placebo addiction. Coffee and caffeine, cigarettes and chewing tobacco. It's all the same, it just depends on what your poison is. I might have a caffeine addiction. But more importantly, I have an addiction to a placebo that is so strong that if I were to switch to concentrated caffeine, I would probably suffer massive withdrawals and start chain-smoking.
I feel it's necessary that I post the brilliance that is Sue Sylvester's (played by Jane Lynch) journal entry from Glee. Its fucking fantastic:
"Dear Journal. Feeling listless again today. It began at dawn, when I tried to make a smoothie out of beef bones, breaking my juicer. And then at Cheerios practice, disaster...
It was unmistakable. It was like spotting the first spark on the Hindenburg. A quiver! That quiver will lose us Nationals. And without a championship, I'll lose my endorsements. And without those endorsements, I won't be able to buy my hovercraft...
GLEE CLUB. Every time I try to destroy that clutch of scab-eating mouth breathers, it only comes back stronger like some sexually ambiguous horror movie villain. Here I am, about to turn 30, and I've sacrificed everything, only to be shanghaied by the bi-curious machinations of a cabal of doughy, misshapen teens.
Am I missing something, Journal? Is it me? Of course it's not me. It's WILL SCHUESTER. What is it about him, Journal? Is it the arrogant smirk? Is it the store-bought home perm? You know, Journal, I noticed something yesterday...
Of course, it's coming clear to me now. If I can't destroy the club, I'll have to destroy THE MAN!!!"
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