cant’ think…. must get coffee…
a primitive impulse stirs itself within my brain. I move, slowly, unsteadily. Certain higher cerebral functions having been firmly co-opted by the imperative driving an addictive need, I stumble, brain stem forward, into the kitchen, my consciousness diffidently observing my body going through the seeming automatic motions involving spigot, carafe, coffee grounds, switches. No one in the house is awake yet, including me. I’ve never been to the continent where the bean is grown that drives, by its precious absence, my actions.