Cold brewed madness...

I have recently discovered the wonders of cold brewing my coffee. Iced coffee is an important part of my life, very important, and running across what's touted as something just shy of magic was impossible to ignore. Saturday night, I mixed up my coffee grounds and water, and was actually excited about trying the finished product the next day. I bounced out of bed Sunday morning, put a small amount of ice in a glass (because it's already cold, you know), poured a generous amount of cold brewed goodness, topped it off with half and half, and took a sip.

I inhaled that glass. Oh, it was good. Then I made myself another, and set about writing for a while. Wow, that second one was good, too. Decided to have a third, again, with very little ice.

Just one problem with enjoying that much of it with very little ice: It is a concentrate. Somehow, I had failed to absorb that. For a while, I thought something was wrong. I was shaking and sweating, thought a panic attack was coming on. And then I wondered if I didn't have a touch of a cold, why on earth was I perspiring so? Turned on the ceiling fan, kicked back the a/c....

....and finished that third glass. Maybe I needed to perk myself up a little, I thought, since certainly I had a cold. That was at 10.30am.

At 9.30pm, I had to take a Hyland's Calms to take the edge off. At 11.30pm, I finally, FINALLY yawned, and was so relieved I told Didge about it. He looked at me like I was crazy, and I explained that I'd had the equivalent of at least six cups of coffee. He looked at me like I was crazy some more and remarked that THAT was what had been wrong with me all day.

I am now limiting myself to one glass a day, made with lots of ice.