IT’S been four days (when I started drafting this) since I temporarily started living without coffee. No, I haven’t lost my mind — though I wouldn’t blame you for asking. It’s self-imposed, and unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. Seven days without caffeine. If you’re wondering, no, I’m not okay. It’s like being sent to the Wall in Game of Thrones — I wake up thinking I’m ready to face the day, only to realize I’m just evading White Walkers (or, in this case, migraines) armed with nothing but sheer willpower and a forced sense of grace.
For GoT fans, my Day One felt like the Battle of Blackwater — except instead of wildfire, I fought off migraines with painkillers and sheer determination. The headache could rival Cersei’s worst days.
Day Two felt like the same battle all over again, though, oddly enough, I wasn't sleepy. But the migraine? It arrived fashionably late afternoon and made itself comfortable for dinner. In the morning, I channeled Sex and the City’s Carrie Bradshaw, trying to navigate my caffeine-starved existence with as much composure as possible. Instead of strutting through chic New York streets, I stumbled through my day, hoping my brain would keep up.
Picture me in corporate chic attire, staring blankly at my laptop, waiting for it to type as I dictated — only to remember that I had to do the typing myself. The betrayal. And my substitute for coffee? A sad cup of cold almond milk.
By Day Three, the fog began to lift slightly. I started to feel a little more like myself, though the craving still lingered like an annoying background voice of Janice from Friends. Temptation came in the form of Loloy asking, “Dunkin’ coffee?” Thankfully, Eden and Roro were there to cheer me on. It felt like Arya Stark’s training in Braavos — every day was another trial, and every coworker or friend was part of my caffeine withdrawal support group. All this suffering over a single cup of coffee I chose to deny.
Day Four. I woke up with a headache that felt like my head was about to burst. I had to drown myself in cups of water to regain a sense of normalcy. My body slowly adjusted, and tasks that once seemed impossible started to feel manageable again. It was like Jon Snow’s long march beyond the Wall — each email a dragon to slay, each meeting a political battlefield.
By Day Five, I felt an unexpected strength. Could I survive without coffee? (Dream on, Mae.) Mornings were still rough — it was like trying to navigate Hogwarts without magic. Or worse, an episode of Sex and the City where everyone shows up for brunch, but the coffee machine takes the day off. I’ve made it this far, so please cut me some slack and give me some well-earned credit.
I still have two more days to go, but let’s get real — this entire experience has been like watching Friends without Central Perk. Everything looks the same, but something is missing. My brain keeps whispering, “Hey, that cup of water isn’t magically turning into coffee.”
So, here’s to five coffee-free days — a testament to my iron will and humor. If I can survive this, I can conquer my work targets. And who knows, by Day Seven, I might even laugh about all of this and feel stronger for it.
You’ve got this, caffeine-free Mae! (For seven days only. Don’t get your hopes up, folks).
