I have been drinking more tea this summer. I was drinking it instead of coffee, attempting to eliminate my dependency on caffeine, but this morning I woke up a little worse for wear after two beers and a big shot of tequila and so I am drinking a coffee so strong it is viscous. Coffee is the strongest cure for what ails me currently but also portends an extension of dependency.

Tea feels like a concession. A sad trombone. I would like for it to feel like surrender. A clarion bell instead. Would that we could give in to the slow modality of tea, it could accede delight, even surpass the effects of coffee over time. Over time. Tea is a balm and a partnership. Coffee is a curative and a dependency. Spiders cannot function on it and I cannot live without it, and on the tip of my tongue, a spider.

A spiritualist told me I should treat myself to things that will please me, to replace the pleasures that damage me, so I have been buying more flowers and herbal teas. I went to the place across the street from my work (Premium Steap) and bought a pound of various herbal metaphors; dried, crushed flowers—holy basil, rose, dried blood orange rind, kapha, white peony. I asked the purveyor where the teas came from and she said, “Germany, where most tea is actually processed. They’re very meticulous about quality control. Very German.”

I am told the Germans also love coffee and serve it in almost all service environments, not limited to the obvious cafes and coffee shops. My friend John said the first time he had coffee in Germany was an epochal revelation.

I can’t wait to experience this myself, but the problem is that I really do need to learn how to.