Coffee and I, we're in love.

Coffee and I have been together for quite a long time; in fact, I'd say this relationship's only rival is the Church, and early on a Sunday morning they're definitely tied for What Emily Wants More. (Wait, Thomas Cranmer, don't run away, I didn't mean it!)

It's true that this love affair has at times followed a similar pattern to my many other TORRID and DRAMATIC love affairs (c.f. Simone Weil, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, St Augustine, Italo Calvino, and the prophet Isaiah), marked by an extreme devotion combined with unpredictability and impulsivity--such as the year when I drank 8 cups a day and my love gave me heart palpitations, or when coffee suddenly lost its taste (see "Princeton Dining Hall, year one"), or when a crackpot (crackpot, I tell you!) doctor suggested abstaining for a month in order to help migraines and disordered sleep.

Now, however, coffee and I are back on good terms. Someday perhaps our relationship will be as stable as my relationship with Gerard Manley Hopkins or George Herbert, but considering how much of my personality is similar to Speedy Gonzales', I'm not betting on it.


Exhibit A:
My first cafe au lait in a bowl! And Sunday breakfast (at 1pm) consisting entirely of bread in a variety of forms. But mostly the coffee. Coffee coffee.






















Exhibit B:
Here, I am on the train home from Nancy, and am devastated to find that, in fact, all the coffee is gone. Please note that this was coffee a emporter, "to go", only available in train stations.