I have rosacea. It is a chronic skin problem that currently only affects my vanity. But here is my confession; I am vain. I don't want my face to look all red and zitty. I want to look fabulous and gorgeous. I used to have picture perfect skin in high school and would give unhelpful advice to others to help them have skin as porcelain and wonderful as mine. So I guess this is my payback.

I finally went to a dermatologist and he put me on antibiotics and some sort of cream. But after the drugs, I have to prevent an outbreak. But preventing an outbreak is almost on par for terribleness with getting an outbreak. Almost. except I am very vain and am willing to cut the good things out of my life. Here is a list of everything that I am to cut out of my life:

1. Sun - UV umbrellas and SPF are my friends

2. Alcohol - my face becomes red like a cherry tomato after that glass of chardonnay

3. Spicy foods -  No more tom yum soup?

4. Hot drinks, soups - which brings us to my last item to avoid....

5. Caffeine. * *sputter.*.*. cough..*sputter.*..What!!

NO WAY.

I can give up coffee on my own volition for a certain amount of time with no issue. But banning me from my beloved coffee forever! Impossible. I have written love songs to coffee. That first sip in the morning makes getting up in the morning worth the fact that it is 7am. Dave doesn’t like coffee and has been trying to pry the coffee cup from my hand and I say...over my dead body!

Non-coffee lovers are confused. Why the attachment? Why do you need coffee? You went without for a few months last year, and you didn’t drink it in China. Why can't you just let it go forever?

Coffee is attached to the good things in life like living with my closest friends, and being with my family. My history is intertwined with coffee.

When I was very small, my dad would take me with him when he would meet his friends for coffee. I would happily munch on my toast and jam and when I had finished making a real mess of myself and it was time to go; my dad would take his napkin and dip in in his black coffee and wipe my face off. People seem a bit turned off by the coffee face wash but I think it was a perfectly genius move by my dad. The coffee would be the precise lukewarm temperature by the time he needed it to wipe me down. The coffee came with constant refills. Plus it was there and available. The perfect parent hack. And I would smell wonderful. There is nothing better than the smell of a cup of coffee.

I had my first cup of coffee when I was around 6 years old. It involved a styrofoam cup, a pinch of coffee and a pound of sugar. It was delicious. I repeated this everytime we had a church get-together or I was allowed to purchase any drink with no supervision. Weeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!

Fast forward a few years and I am in high school. I worked, as well, as went to school. I had one job where I worked at a convenience store. I worked until 11, got home, passed out and got up to do some homework at 5 or 6 am. That job paid for half of a trip to Europe and half of a Ford Bronco II, all courtesy of my friend caffeine. (Also thanks to my mom and dad for that other half)

In grade 10, I went on a date with a guy who was in grade 12. He drove a red Camaro. He was gorgeous. His name was Gerry. I was willing to overlook the old fashioned spelling of his name because of all of his other fabulous attributes. He took me out for dinner where I ate a fruit cup (wtf?) and drank 100 cups of coffee. No exaggeration. 100 cups. I had to pee every 2.4 seconds. He never asked me out again. You might think this might be a bad memory, but he was gorgeous and I was in grade 10.

I move out to Calgary. I go to college. I drink cup after cup after cup. Not 100 in a row though. I learned my lesson in grade 10.

Visiting my parents often meant helping with their 10 years of renovations. There were coffee breaks. I needed to get my energy back for that sledge hammering. Or mudding. ugh. mudding.

Lisa and I needed a new apartment. The location of our apartments directly considered the proximity to coffee shops. As well, Lisa had just lived in Italy and had brought back this marvelous little invention of a small, Italian expresso maker. And we would make it and drink this sweet, black coffee out of teeny, tiny cups.

I worked at the SEED and needed that little bit of caffeine to pull me through the 3-6 dead time before supper. The one thing that must be good at a shelter is the coffee.

To get rid of migraines, I down a cup of coffee with my pills to help them get to the right spot faster.

Then Lorn, Lisa and I all lived together. We all loved joe. At Inglenook, we lived near Buffalo Cafe. Sunday morning would roll around and we’d grumble out of bed with the promise of coffee and all meander down the street to Buffalo.

When Lisa and I lived in Parkdale, we would amble down to Lazy Loaf and Kettle. And even though we were sad that Lorn had moved to a different house, she was part of the Lazy Loaf coffee commune just like before. Coffee after coffee, cake and cream cheese covered gingersnaps and love and friendship and perfection. Our lives were sorted out and futures were planned over coffee.

Camping, coffee and Baileys.

Family, cards and coffee.

Friends, laughter and coffee.

I have changed mostly everything in my life. I live where coffee is a little more difficult to come by. My partner-person doesn’t drink coffee, ever. But I guess I’m feeling nostalgic and far away from all of the beautiful people in my life. So screw the vanity...gimme my coffee.