Achy Breaky Coffee

One of my talents is breaking things. (I have others; they just have not yet been revealed to me.) I am not a physically strong individual. I just use what strength I possess ineptly.

Now, I know that anyone can break anything with enough gumption and/or strength. Give a man a big enough lever, and he can move the world, said Archimedes. Teach a man to swim and he can fish for a bicycle, said no one.

At best, this talent is an inadvertent one; at worst, it portends possible certain probable doom for the planet.
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A Hot Drink for My Cold Heart

“But what is it?” my friend asked.

I repeated what I had just said: “It’s a Starbucks ‘Caramel Apple Spice.'” (I think I even said “Starbucks,” even though we were at that moment sitting in a Starbucks and we certainly knew where we were, because it is impossible to mistake a Starbucks for any other anything. But sometimes when I open my mouth, an advertisement flies out.)

“Yes, but caramel apple spice what? Coffee? Tea? Soup?”

I did not have an answer. What is it indeed? “I don’t think it’s coffee.” I fell back on the charm of insane repetition, something I have not perfected over the years: “Its a Starbucks Caramel Apple Spice,” and I used my eyebrows to tell my friend that she wanted her own one, too. (Picture Groucho Marx.)
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The Tao of Caffeine

“An attitude of gratitude ….” No. Not until I’ve had my …

Some mornings, well, all mornings, I am capable of beginning my day because I know coffee will be involved, right after I leave the bed and shuffle into my shuffling day. With SMA, the fact I am shufflingly ambulatory rather than not is a beautiful thing and I am grateful for it, but in my morning harch across my room I look like a cartoonist’s two-dimensional first attempt at animation more than I look like a person who understands how to walk.
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