It's five in the morning and I'm sitting here at my computer.  No, I didn't get kicked out of bed.   This is the only time I can find any peace and quiet for writing.  Besides, I get a whole pot of coffee all to myself.

There are few things in life that bring me as much pleasure as a cup of coffee, and I'm not allowed to mention them here.  That's okay, because until I've had my first cup, I don't even care about the others.  At that point, I’d trade Julia Roberts for a cup of coffee.

A few years ago I had a medical test that required no caffeine for twenty-four hours.  Why didn’t they just shoot me instead?  That's like taping Rush Limbaugh's mouth shut for a whole day.  I was a basket case.

Before the test even started, my head felt like I'd been smacked with a sledgehammer.  The lab technician kindly noted that caffeine is a drug and suggested I may be addicted.  I kindly noted that if I wanted his opinion, I'd beat it out of him.

You see, I’m not a nice person before my first cup of coffee.  And the last thing I need is someone tantalizing me about it.   Yes, caffeine is a drug.  Yes I’m addicted.  No, I won’t go on a twelve-step program.  I WANT COFFEE!!!

Decaf, you say?  Not on your life.   That rates right up there with non-alcoholic beer.  If God can take the time to put caffeine in my coffee, the least I can do is drink it that way.  I want mine full-bodied, fresh from the pot, with no artificial enhancements.  Cream and sugar are for pansies.

The same goes for gourmet coffee.  That’s just a substitute for people who can’t handle the real thing.  Coffee was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making me a nicer person in the morning.  A whole bag of hazelnuts can't do that.

And what’s up with all these fancy coffee shops in bookstores?  You’re not allowed to walk around with a glass of water in your hand, but no one cares if you dribble cappuccino all over a book you haven’t paid for.

I’ve just never understood the fascination.  Coffee is not a social beverage.  It’s meant to be savored on a personal level, like meditation or an evening by the fire.  Most bookstores are about as personal as a locker room, and that's not a place I go to drink coffee.

But it's the fashionable thing to do, so I play along.  I go to the counter, and some deviant with blue hair and more body piercings than a Tasmanian witch doctor gives me a look of complete disgust when I say, "Just give me a cup of coffee."

That's right, a cup of plain, hot, unflavored coffee.  I don't want it dumped into a blender with boiling milk.  I don’t want ice, I don't want chocolate syrup, I don’t want raspberries, and I don't want whipped cream.  What is this, Baskin Robbins?

As far as I'm concerned, flavoring your coffee is about as classy as slurping champagne through a straw.  I say this from the viewpoint of someone whose liver has filtered enough coffee to float a battleship.

And since we're on the subject, let me share a few other insights.  First of all, coffee isn't for everyone.  This includes small children, schizophrenics, and the guy who sits next to me at work.  He reacts to caffeine like a kitten to catnip.

Also, caffeine doesn't do a thing to reduce the effects of alcohol.  A whole pot of coffee won't keep you from falling off a barstool, but you will be wide awake when you hit the floor.

And cleaning a coffeepot doesn't ruin the flavor of the coffee.  That's an excuse dreamed up by men who are too lazy to pick up a sponge.  Just be sure to rinse out the soap when you're done, or it'll taste like freeze-dried.

Yes, coffee is important to me.  It's one of the few things in life I take seriously.  And I know that someday I'll have to cut back, or give it up completely.

I only hope I'll be too old to care.  As I reminisce about quiet mornings with my old friend, I'll wish I had one last cup to trade for something else I missed. If only I could remember …