Quintessentially Seaweed

So I'm reflecting on the concept that an alcoholic is essentially a large collection of very deep holes that scream to be filled.  I know I spend vast amounts of time and energy shoveling stuff into each of my respective holes.  A lot of these holes make us feel good, until they don't - alcohol, drugs, food, nicotine, sex, caffeine, the endorphin release after exercise.  We work too hard and too long to gain recognition - to be important among our fellows - and to gain things that glitter and impress.  We pursue relationships until we possess what we're pursuing, whether we want it or not, and invariably we quickly tire once the conquest is made and the thrill fades.

I've made much progress over the years on many of these sweet delights but there is one monstrous foe that has stood tall, battled well, and refused to be vanquished: caffeine.

Here's the thing: there's nothing wrong with the effects of caffeine - a legal, fairly mild stimulant - on the normal mind if what you mean by "nothing" is "everything" and that you understand that the adjective  "normal" is in no way connected to the individual "Seaweed."    I am a guy who wakes up early, after sleeping well, and thrives in the morning.  I can nap should I get tired.  I can also go to bed early if I feel weary.  I do not need a mild stimulant in the morning or at any other time, irregardless of what stories I try to tell myself to justify the kick of the caffeine.

I am prone to anxiety and one of the possible bad side effects of coffee is an increase in anxiety.
 It's like being lactose intolerant and starting your day with a glass of milk.  A normal person who loves milk and is lactose intolerant would not drink the milk;.  The milk, temporarily delicious, produces hours of discomfort. "Hmmm," says the individual.  "Perhaps tomorrow I'll have tea."  You would applaud this decision but probably not be overly impressed.

Not Seaweed.  I teeter-totter away from the massive caffeine injection that coffee provides, dabbling in teas or nothing at all, before slithering back.  The stuff makes me anxious, screws with my aging and increasingly creaky digestive system, and serves me no good purpose.  But I get a nice, horse-tranquilizer kick at the start, and I crave kicks, jolts, and shocks.  No matter that they go away quickly, leaving me jittery and anxious - I have trouble thinking the thought through to its logical conclusion.  

Sounds alcoholic, doesn't it?  Compulsive.  Obsessive.  The hopeful drunk hoping against hope that he can sip on a beer and feel delightfully mellow, chasing that sense of ease and release that the first drink produced the first time.

Minuteman Dave, a green tea drinker, told me long ago about an anxiety attack he had experienced: "It was profoundly uncomfortable."  Columbus Mark doesn't drink coffee: "I liked speed too much."  Spandex gave it up: "Coffee and me don't mix."

Sheeyit.