"They said, 'There's too much caffeine
In your bloodstream
And a lack of real spice in your life'
I said, 'Leave me alone
Because I'm alright, dad'" – The Smiths,

I got some new toys for Christmas. A new album from the Parquet Courts, an espresso machine, some socks, a couple of great books, and a new toque. These helped pass the time during sickness and quarantine. Dialing in the coffee machine, making new drinks, padding around and jamming new tunes.
Besides battling boredom, the worst part about being sick is the interrupted sleep schedule. I keep a regular sleep schedule, seven to nine hours a night. When lying around all day it's hard not to drift off, or watch an extra episode of something. When you're feverish it's hard not to toss-turn then wake up and stare at the ceiling.
I've been a week without symptoms but on Monday morning I wake up at 2am. Wide awake. Almost giddy. I grab a book and tip-toe downstairs because on the rare occasions that I can't sleep a non-fiction book usually helps. This one doesn't.
I sit at my desk and start on some reports I do for myself each year. Then I do a few for clients. Then a few for old projects from earlier in the year. I mess around with editing some photos in Photoshop, work on the calendar for 2022, and outline a few projects as the sun comes up.
Once the sun is up I run through more work. All the year-end activity I missed is lined up and worked through. I am weirdly productive. I feel alive.
Then lunchtime comes. I can barely keep my eyes open. I mention this to my lovely bride and complain about the 'rona throwing me off my game. Stupid plague I say, shaking my fist at the sky. What have you done to my circadian rhythm?!?
My bride pushes herself from the table and says, "How many of those Americanos did you make yesterday," pointing at the new espresso machine as she walks out of the room.
"Oh, maybe five," I reply. "Why," I ask, but she's gone.
I stare out the window for a moment.
You know, she might be on to something.
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