Today, on my way out to ocean beach to play volleyball, I stopped by my local coffee shop to get a matcha latte. I was about to leave, when the cute barista, who's always there, came up to me and said "where have you been?" We had a moment of connection, as I appreciated his attention. I said, "I broke up with coffee in February." He looked sad. It's nice to be missed.

Now I'm sitting here at lands end, staring at the ocean and thinking about what's happened since February.

I broke up with coffee in February. February 21st, 2015 to be exact. I'll never forget that day. I was riding with an ex (a week after we ended things) on his motorcycle to Mount Tam. We stopped to get my absolute favorite at the time, iced separators [espresso-coconut milk-honey-cinnamon] from contraband coffee bar. It was really sunny but we took off our sunnies before getting on the bike. He looked at me [which is rare, in fact I think it was the last time he ever looked at me] and said "Wow. You're really beautiful". Or something similar. And I thought to myself:

"Yea. And I really miss you.
Just like I miss cocktails. And 48 hour drug binges to avoid my life. And staying up way too late, way too often, having sex. And pretending like it doesn't affect me. And coffee. And everything else that feels so fucking good in the moment yet kills me from the inside out. Like a disease that sucks up my soul and spits it out, leaving me in zombie form craving more, because it seems to be the only thing allowing me to feel human when I'm so deeply addicted."

I thought all of this in the moment that he was looking at me. It was almost as if I knew it would be the last moment I would get to enjoy his attention, because in that moment I also decided that this would be my last iced separator. I would enjoy it and then say goodbye. Which I did.

It was the day I quit. It was the day before every day after when I said, "I broke up with coffee in February". But for me that line really meant, "I don't drink coffee. Just like I don't drink alcohol and I don't lose myself to drugs. I don't interrupt my sleep schedule. And I don't fuck 22 year olds. In fact, I don't fuck with anything that fucks with me.

When I meet those things along my path, those things I don't fuck with, they always say "Mikka, where have you been? We miss you!" And I just smile and think, "it's nice to be missed."

Comment