I think I hit rock bottom on Saturday. I was about to finish coffee cup number 26 when I realized my hands were shaking a little too much. “What is this?” was all I could say as I tried to steady my hand.
On Sunday I woke up super early to go to the city. Mandatory voting is a thing here, and because I'm about to sell my car, I kind of need to not lose my rights (a topic for another day), so I went. Getting out of bed without a cup of joe felt strange, but I thought I was going to give it a good go.
Around noon I started feeling really bad. There was a shortness of breath and my head was explody, if that's even a word. The truth is I knew I’d feel withdrawal, so I wasn't surprised, but the intensity was more than I expected.
I got home that night feeling exhausted, even though I had walked back. Obviously not the case, but even so, I tried to finish a few things I had in the “pending” list and went to bed. Maybe tomorrow would begin to be better.
Today, however, has been worse. Writing this blog entry is the challenge of the day, as my head feels inept. I keep having a hard time remembering words, but that's fine. It’s not like wordsmithing is my thing anyway.
I consulted with the ChatGPTs of the world and described my symptoms to our new software overlords. Seems like “it’s normal” is the banner that covers it all. My dear wife thinks I should be able to overcome this with willpower, but there’s actual chemical fuckery happening in my noggin and it’s not that simple.
Now, a question might be penetrating your mind at the moment. Is 
The moment you need ten just to get your morning started, you know the needle needs to be reset.
Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be writing about how good I feel, and maybe I’ll start complementing my coffee with some teas. Or maybe I should do the most horrible thing a man can do, especially one who refuses to act his age. Maybe I should buy decaf. Imagine the dishonor. The horror.
At any rate, I’ll be ok… I hope.
MenO