Three daily requirements: coffee, coffee, coffee

SUBURBAN CHRONICLES

I need a cup of coffee. It’s first thing in the morning and the idea of facing the world seems daunting and unappealing.

Perhaps I should just crawl under the covers, avoid my responsibilities and try to will myself back to sleep. At the very least, I can just lie here just doing nothing for a very long time.

But the caffeine beckons me. It promises to bring joy to my tastebuds and wakefulness to my mind. My favourite cup — a cheap porcelain vessel I “borrowed” from a ubiquitous chain because I liked the shape and feel — is sitting in the cupboard waiting excitedly, like a dog ready for their daily walk. Whatever the challenges the day may bring, that first cup of coffee will bring me happiness.

But I need another cup of coffee. It’s mid-morning and the work is starting to pile up. The phone is ringing incessantly, the emails and texts are coming non-stop.

I only barely survived the morning, shepherding kids to school, organizing logistics with my wife, making sure I remembered to wear matching socks. I finished my first cup of joe, but just barely.

The second cup will provide me with a little respite, a chance to reset. If I’m working from home, the act of making another batch of the black stuff will take me away from the computer screen, if only for a few minutes. Then I can return, slurping happily from yet another stolen mug.

If I’m on the move, it’s an opportunity to overpay at an independently-minded coffee shop featuring boutique beans and brewing methods of ever-increasing sophistication.

Perhaps, if I’m really lucky, I’ll try to work while listening to someone talk too loudly on their phone about something so dumb it will make me question the future of humanity.

I definitely need a final cup of coffee. It’s the afternoon and I’m in that terrible, yawning chasm where my will to work has dissipated but it’s not technically an appropriate time to begin swigging wine. I just need a little jolt of black magic to the system to carry me through the afternoon.

This is not a time for leisure: I do not have the patience for a café artiste or mustachioed barista to create swirls of foam art. I need a straight 12 ounces of the good stuff pumped directly from a paper cup into my veins.

A fast-moving drive-thru or an extremely harried counter person prioritizing speed over politeness is what I’m looking for here. In the rare case where I’m sitting down for a moment or two at my coffee chain of choice, I’m hoping for an employee not particularly attached to company property.

That’s it, though. Three cups is still within shouting distance of whatever the medical community has decided is the appropriate amount this week. Plus, there can be no late-night coffee blast if sleep is to be had at a reasonable hour; the worst thing is waking up after not getting the appropriate amount of rest.

There’s only one solution: more coffee.