Weekend Warrior
In the remaining sliver of my middle age, I took the first corporate job I’ve had since I was 30. Plowing toward the homestretch where wool-gathering, volunteer work, and more walks on the beach are waiting for me, I want to make as much money as I can. It’s impressive the number of new tricks this old dog has learned. But because of the pace, my stress levels ramped up to the point where I decided it would benefit my health (and Brian’s) if I quit coffee. Not into extremes anymore, I switched to matcha with a splash of coconut milk instead of thick and chewy Peets. I still have a yummy ritual and the little kick in the pants feels nice.
This past Saturday morning I ran late to my recovery meeting in Alameda. The pot of Peets I brewed for my Hubbs gurgled and dripped into the carafe filling the apartment and my sleepy head full of promise. I measured out less than 1/3 cup and sipped. Hmm, hello pep. I hustled to the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair and a fantastic idea for an elevator pitch for the memoir popped up. I rushed to scribble it down in my journal, drew a giant heart around it, and put my shoes on like a champ. Then Brian got up.
Hey, honey, I said. Wanna hear a new pitch idea for my book?
He looked in my direction.
“Swollen Appetite, a memoir that takes place in San Francisco in the 90s, chronicles the exceptional five years in my life when my oversized drives merged. Alcohol paved a superhighway and the need to prove myself plowed over it at 90 miles an hour.”
Brian grunted in a way that sounded unimpressed.
Yeah, I know, it’s probably too corny.
Driving 880 to Alameda in my two-door Yaris, my idea factory was open. Delightful and clever ideas jumped up and down and I got excited about the premise of what might make a new short story. A car swerved in front of me bringing me back to the moment, and I realized I was having coffee-fueled euphoria! Less than a third of a cup of coffee lit me up. I have become a weekend warrior!
In that exceptional period of my life in the 90s the memoir covers, I worked at the Improv Comedy Club at Mason and Geary. Comedian, Ed Marquez played the club often, and on my drive to Alameda, I remembered a coffee joke he made. To paraphrase poorly:
…Even though I don’t drink alcohol anymore, I still drink coffee. My mom would nag…Ed, caffeine (pronounced cuf- feen) is a drug, and drinking cu-feen is still taking drugs. I’d say to her, Mom, no one ever went to jail or lost a job from cleaning the entire garage after drinking a pot of coffee…
I get it. I’m still hungry to prove myself, but at least now my desire does not fester. And yes, I need help - not with not drinking coffee - but with writing pitches.
