One of the consequences of living alone is that every morning, I end up drinking the entire pot of coffee on my own. Doing so usually leaves me with either a massive headache or a euphoric high. On the days when it's the high, I literally skip to work. Everything seems possible, and the prospect of success, love, LIFE excites me to the point of tears. No doubt I appear to be certifiably insane to the other people on the train, as I often sing out loud to the tune of my iPod. I must admit- part of the joy is watching their reactions. It's pretty much the same everytime- they first look around to see if anyone else seems puzzled, then they blush on my behalf because they think I don't realize that anyone can hear me. I give them a reassuring smile to let them know that in fact, I do. Then they usually just shrug their shoulders, smile back, and return to their newspaper. Or move to another seat. It depends on the song, really. The other day, "Hotel California" came on my iPod. Since it's song that most people know and love, I sang with extra gusto. By the end of the ride, I kid you not- almost everyone was singing along. On the way home that day, I tried to recreate the morning scenario, this time with Billy Joel's "For the Longest Time", another family favorite. I could already sense the crowd wasn't about to start snapping along when I felt a tap on my knee, followed by "honey, some of us iz tryin' ta read". Discouraged, hurt, and frankly, embarrassed, I looked down at the woman, and all I could think to say was, "you know, sometimes you just gotta stop reading, and enjoy the music." Those are the moments when my euphoria gets the better of me. And coming down is no picnic either; once the caffeine wears off, nothing seems as exciting.
In fact, the more I look forward to that morning pot of coffee, the more I realize that I've formed an addiction to the high. I rely on it to get me through an otherwise mundane day, just like any other addict in need of a fix. I fully intend to wean myself off the pot, and stick to just one 12 oz. cup. But before I do, I just need a few more subway sing-a-longs. Just one more, and then I'll move on.
Famous last words.
In fact, the more I look forward to that morning pot of coffee, the more I realize that I've formed an addiction to the high. I rely on it to get me through an otherwise mundane day, just like any other addict in need of a fix. I fully intend to wean myself off the pot, and stick to just one 12 oz. cup. But before I do, I just need a few more subway sing-a-longs. Just one more, and then I'll move on. 
