(Where a long-standing ritual/habit is crushed into itsy-bitsy pieces)

Today is a sad day.

Whether I like it or not, I’m a creature of (some) habit. That explains in part how I managed to get addicted to smoking, fizzy drinks, Macs, French, and countless other things. Probably one of my most tenacious and beloved addictions (besides my addiction to injecting black tar heroin into my — oh, nevermind) is my addiction to coffee.

There’s a Turkish proverb about the perfect cup of coffee that my old roommate Caelum once told me:

“Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and as sweet as love.”

(He actually made a movie with this as the title, but that’s another story for another time.)

And that pretty much sums it up for me. Every morning I wake up, scrub away the eye gremlins, pet the cats, and brew up a damn fine cuppa Good Morning America that gets poured into my favourite cup. I then sit down with the newspaper (or the laptop) and find out what’s going on in the world. This is all a simple but effective prelude to getting into a good work state of mind, and this ritual / habit has been a comfort for years and years.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said: Habit is a man’s sole comfort. We dislike doing without even unpleasant things to which we have become accustomed. There is some wisdom in this.

Yesterday morning, without warning, loud explosions, or blaring flugelhorns, my favourite cup broke.


This morning, I woke up, scrubbed away the eye gremlins, petted the cats, and brewed up a fine cuppa Good Morning America. I then sat down with the newspaper to find out what’s going on in the world.

It just didn’t feel the same.

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