It's early morn and the mind is not yet fully operational, still bewildered, still caught in fell sights and sounds and queer and restless dreams. I envy my computer, that can boot up and get all its faculties in order and start functioning optimally in but a brief while, wanting only a supply of fresh electrons to do so. Me, I am chiefly a biochemical system, in which the spark of intelligence lives only in a blend of chemicals, which now seem to be flowing more lethargically than they ought, despite the rousing musick surging forcefully throughout my subterranean lair by the power of the twin loudspeakers upon my desk.

I need my drug fix. I trudge up the stairs and brew a pot of coffee.

Seconds seem long indeed when awaiting that dark, invigorating elixir! At last, it is finished: I fill my cup and bring it to my lips. The warmth sets my soul aglow as xanthines antagonistically bind to adenosine receptors and pull my mind from the torpor in which it lay. Dopamine surges into synaptic clefts, and my spirit awakens in truth. The fog thins. I now know the world about me.

The mug is empty. I fill it once more and down it more quickly than the first. The mind springs to life: what zeal! what vim! My thoughts flow in countless streams that fork and merge but are never lost. Truly, this is bliss.

Alas, I know all too well that it will fade. I keep my mug close at hand, ready to ward off the cursed fatigue.

Coffee: High potential for abuse.

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