Confessions of a Coff-a-holic

ad·dic·tion

 /əˈdɪkʃən/ Show Spelled[uh-dik-shuhn]

–noun

the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

"Hi, my name is Mike, and I'm addicted to coffee."
"Hi Mike!"

So they say that admitting you have a problem is the first step on that long road to recovery.  I admit that I didn't admit I had a problem.  But then this morning I realized that I have become just another statistic, joining the ranks of those who confess to having a chemical dependency.  


It went like this:


The time was 6a.m.  The place was a men's Bible study.  I had no reason to think anything was going to be out of the ordinary.  Everything seemed as it always did on a typical  Thursday morning.  There was the typical circle of chairs where all the men sat and discussed various topics.  There was the typical greeting from the one we call the "Facilitator."  All was calm; all was right; ALL was about to change...


As I greeted the man I will refer to as Jim(as that is his name), I was blissfully unaware of what was about to be uttered.  I smiled...and then Jim said,


"Is it ok if we don't have coffee this morning? All the coffee pots are gone."


*Cue dramatic music, with a close up to my face*


Of course this was not ok!  Why does "Jim" even think I got up at the crack of dawn?  Doesn't he know how this day is supposed to begin?  To feel that cylindrical paper cup.  To waft the aroma of a beautifully strained, black bean.  To experience the comforting warmth of a beverage so enticing, that if temptation could be tempted, this would be it's kryptonite for sure. I needed to say something.  To let this man know that he was killing happiness personified!  So with righteous anger I turned to Jim, looked him in the eye and said:


"Oh that's fine."


Hi.
I'm Mike.
And I'm addicted to coffee.

 

You sicken me

   

Other than Nathan Lane's big break, I think this commercial illustrates a great truth.   Have you ever noticed that when you feel the worst, everyone wants to have nothing to do with you?  It's true!  Maybe you have experienced a conversation like this:

"How are you?"

"Well, actually I'm feeling sick..."

"What?! (holds up fingers in the shape of an X) Don't come near me!  I don't want to catch it!"

It's interesting that upon our darkest hour of need for care and healing, our family and closest friends treat us as though we have ushered in "Black Death."  

Now to be fair I have been on the receiving end of a sneeze and have not been so gracious.  I mean no one wants to get sick.  But why is it our gut reaction is to put a bell around the neck of someone who is ill and yell, "Leper!"

Perhaps I'm looking at it the wrong way.  Maybe it's incredibly insensitive for a person to even interact with humanity when sick.  We who fall victim to disease should remain in bed enveloped by darkness until released from said anguish.  This would of course prevent outbreak.  Sure the death rate might increase, but at least those of us lucky enough to avoid "the plague" could breath fresh, uncontaminated air.  

WRONG!  

I think the issue here is consideration.  On both ends.  If we considered others above ourselves we might be courteous enough as sick people to keep distance; and as well people treat the other with some compassion.  Is this too much to ask?  Apparently.