I had an overdose on Tuesday.
Nobody found me at home with a trickle of blood coming from my dead nostrils. I wasn't passed out in the lounge with a belt around my arm and a needle hanging from my shriveled vein.
That's because I overdosed on coffee.
It isn't the first time, you know. I've overdosed on caffeine before. I remember vividly drinking several strong cups of coffee before going to the gym late one night and being unable to sleep for the whole night. I lay in bed until about 4am, before realising that I was desperate for the bathroom. And here began my dilemma: if I get out of bed, I'll have a heart attack, if I stay in bed I'll humiliate myself. I finally reached a compromise of falling out of bed and dragging myself to the bathroom. I thought my heart was about to explode!
Still, it gave me a preview of an average night in the life of the infirm.
So I felt more empathy than sympathy for this Teenager who overdosed on 7 double espressos, a girl who was a bit tired at work in a coffee shop and ended up in hospital with a caffeine overdose. And she and I are not isolated cases – two friends of mine have completely messed up their body clocks through excess habitual caffeine consumption.
But no Ciaran blog post is complete without some whinge or another. My whinge today is about the abysmal spelling that seems to insinuate itself into everyday life, especially in shop signs. A fine example is the one I spotted with my colleague Chris in a cafe today. What the bloody hell is an Expresso anyway? And why do so many people say expresso instead of espresso?