Dear Coffee — IV

A “Dear Juan” letter

Dear Juan Valdez,

I still love you and Pepe, your burro life-companion. I still believe you when you tell me you pick your coffee berries by hand, even showing me the fresh fruit as you pluck it from the branch, between thumb and finger, showing us the ripe wonderful genesis of the beloved bitter black brew.

School and documentaries tried to tell me different. Okay, so maybe lesser coffee farmers do shake the bush and pick the ripe berries from the ground, but not you, Juan, and even if you did, Pepe would refuse to carry it.

The burro knows and would not approve.

Whatever happens from here, Juan, I will never forget you.

That said, I have had to make a difficult decision.

See, the doctor I’ve been going to for almost 7 years takes my blood pressure, and without fail it’s always in the 117–127 over 70–80 range. This is good. However when I go to my other doctor, who I have only been seeing for a few months, it always measures higher… much higher.

Last check-in my blood pressure measured 160 over 90. Before you worry and get Pepe upset, this is only days after the other doctor clocked me at 118 over 72. While I’m not particularly worried about the measurement (I’m aware that doctor’s offices cause my blood pressure to rise until I get very comfortable going to a specific one) but I am worried about it leading to a change in one certain medication that I actually like.

So, Juan, my dear friend, I hope you are seated. I have made a promise to Dr. #2 to give up coffee and salt for the next 30 days to see if it makes a difference.

I know, I know, how could this be? We must remain strong, Juan. We got this. We can still be friends. I realize what you must think of me right now, but it’s really the best thing for both of us. I know it does not seem like it at this moment, but we’ll get through it and be stronger because of it.

I know exactly what you are thinking right now: But… Señor Heath, mi Brisa del Toro… ¿Cómo despertarás por la mañana? ¿Cómo vas a vivir?

Please do not worry, Juan.

I do have another confession, though… I have been seeing someone else. It’s not love, only pleasure, but I think it’s time for her and I to become something more. She does not wake me in the morning like you did, Juan. She is more gentle, but she will never completely replace the near-violent wakefulness you inspired in me, nor the dizzying heart palpitations, or the afternoon runs. She is good to me, though, Juan. Please be happy for us and please know that I will never forget you.

Sincerely,
Heath


So, yes… I have given up coffee on a trial basis.

I’ve always been completely unreserved when it came to pumping legal (or questionably legal) stimulants into my body. I’ve got the constitution of an elk and, when zooming on an assortment of those stimulants, the personality of an adventure/danger-seeking rockstar. Eeeeeevrybody loves me when I’m on.

That sounds so arrogant, I know, but I’m never quite to the point of becoming obnoxious and never angry or hostile, just fun, up for anything, inexhaustible, adventurous, and I’ll take any fun idea and make it Legen — wait... wait for it…

dary.

Seriously, I have all of these stories to write and half the time I’m thinking no one is going to believe this.

But, I’m totally a grown-up now… sorry, I had to laugh a little bit there. My days of mixing alcohol with ephedrine and caffeine have been done for a few years now (for the record, I don’t touch the illegal stuff, as one of my phobias is having to take a shit on a metal toilet surrounded by other arrestees… HELL no).

So, who is this new dalliance of mine? Well, she’s not exactly new… I’ve been seeing her on the down low for a little while now. She was never a means to a caffeine rush, though, and never depended on to to kick my ass awake in the morning.

Her name?

Her name is Tea. She’s hot, with a nice body, smells amazing, and when I want her sweet, she’s deliciously sweet and always eager for the touch of my mouth.

I don’t do shit halfway.

Today my mild mistress wore my favorite dark pumpkin dress and her hair smelled of exotic spices, leaving her memorable taste upon my tongue.

Yes, she’ll still potentially raise the BP, but nowhere near the way coffee can.

I’ll miss coffee, though. Tea just doesn’t have the same abusive but effective nature that coffee does. I summed it up to a friend of mine as:

Coffee just has that “WAKE UP, ASSHOLE!” quality to it, where tea is more “I do say, old chap, it appears to be wakey wakey time. Shall we get to it? Hello? Oh, dear, you’re asleep. What shall we do?”

Ah, well… we’ll see.

As for Juan… Well, he’ll do alright. He’s a survivor.

We’ll always have our memories, you magnificent bastard.

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