The inequity of my caffeine dependency
The next week or so is especially packed with time commitments, a depressing amount of them required for professional/income-generation purposes.
As a result, my partner and I need to “divide and conquer” even more when it comes to child care—basically we need to find more hours in the day, which also means waking up earlier.
”I guess there’s coffee,” my partner told me on the phone tonight as we discussed logistics. He doesn’t usually drink coffee, and his dejected tone made it clear he considered doing so to be a drastic measure.
”What do you mean?” I pressed him, even though I thought I already knew.
”I mean I guess I can drink coffee to help me get up earlier and stay awake.”
Yep, I already knew.
I paused for a long moment before I responded, tamping back the sarcasm that yearned to spew forth. Is he for real right now? He’s just now resorting to the tactic I’ve been clinging to for weeks—no, for months? It’s taken him this long to reach an equivalent state of desperation?
There was a time when I drank mostly tea. Or at least only one cup of coffee. But lately, particularly in recent weeks, I have clung to coffee as an artificial source of energy. I know it’s not a sustainable practice, piling caffeine on more caffeine, but I keep thinking I’ll only need to do it a little longer, till I get caught up, till I get a break.
But I’m beginning to think I’m not getting a break anytime soon.
And hearing my partner mention coffee as a novel solution was astonishing.
”Um, yeah,” I finally replied. “How do you think I’m still functioning?”
It’s a good question.
Love > fear,
(M)om
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