Sunday night I decided to try an experiment. I decided to give up coffee. It's no big deal, I told myself. I drink two, maybe three cups a day. I can take it or leave it.
Ya right. 48 hours later I'm a wreck. I feel blurred, lethargic. I feel like I used to have a superpower and it's been taken away from me, like I can vaguely remember being able to leap from one tall conclusion to another, but just now I couldn't jump over the intellectual equivalent of a dead gerbil (see - I'm reduced to making Scott Adams jokes). I feel blunt. Worse, I'm starting to turn religious. This evening, I tried reading Dante and ended up watching Monty Python. If that isn't a return to the true Faith, I don't know what is. Before long I'll be having visions where I'm wandering through the desert, desperately seeking mocha from heaven.
The worst part of this is that the worse my cold turkey jitters get, the more I'm convinced of the need to break the habit. So if blogging is infrequent this week, or even more morbid than usual (yes n! Wristcutters is on my to-watch list - though given the Imamura retrospective in town I may not get to it till the weekend) you know the reason why.
Meanwhile, over at Harriet, don't miss A.E. Stallings' 'Snark and Blurb: A dialogue' - it's luminous, brilliant, urgent, liminal, radical and, well, necessary.