Is This Post Shaking or Is It Just Me?

Sorry to disappoint if you were expecting a post-Valentine's Day ode to my love muscle (that would be the heart … the other is not muscle -- please repeat Biology 101, perv). I intended to write one, but I'm in the midst of some trippy caffeine-induced heebie-jeebies.

If you do not have such a sensitivity to the world's legal drug of choice, then you are missing one heck of a cheap thrill ride.

Imagine yourself teetering at the mountainous edge of the Acapulco coast.

You gaze at the Pacific crashing below.

The wind picks up.

You lean a bit too much forward ...

Then catch yourself on the precipice of plunging to your doom.

Phew.

Now repeat that feeling every few seconds.

For an hour.

Maybe three.

Normally I manage my problem like the little old lady I've become at age 40. Then, like this morning, a few too many beans fall into the grinder. I chug a little faster and then I chug a little more than normal and -- ka-POW! I'm a stand-alone 5.5 on the Richter scale.

My first bad caffeine trip came in high school when I was working the supermarket bottle return. For reasons still unclear, I decided to try a couple of pills from a box of No-Doz I found in the pharmacy aisle. I washed it down with a large cup of tea. Yes, I was a pretty hardcore then., too.

I believe I developed the same bug-eyed franticness Peter Lorre's character had in "Casablanca" when he was begging Rick to save him from the police. Paranoia set in. I began fretting about impending midterms, spring dances and whether my deftness at separating brown, green and clear glass subconsciously meant I was a racist.

I stay straight for several years -- until My Love (at the time, she was just My Lusty Squeeze) introduced me to the illicit pleasures of a white foam cup of steamin' fresh Dunkin' Donuts coffee. I started with a medium.

Then, a large.

Then, came the aptly named "Big One."

Eventually I had to get additional fixes by slurping the sludge they brewed at my office.

My problem got so bad that if someone materialized within six feet of me when I rounded a corner, I literally jumped. This was especially unfortunate if, at the time, I happened to be carrying a mug of the office sludge. On the plus side, I believe I provided needed economic stimulus to dry cleaners and carpet companies throughout the greater metropolitan area.

Given my history (and that, at the moment, my monitor appears to be wiggling like Beyonce's thighs after a McRib binge), I wasn't surprised by a recent finding by researchers at England's Durham University. They report that UK college students who get hopped up on the equivalent of seven cups of instant coffee a day are three times more likely to imagine hearing voices or seeing things than those who drank a single cup or less a day.

Of course, this scientific study -- as with most -- raises questions because of its methodology and extrapolations. First, these are college students. God knows what else they've been consuming, especially given England's proliferation of seedy takeaway curry shops.

Second, who the heck uses instant coffee as a measuring stick? Or actually measures instant coffee when they make it? Or would actually drink seven cups of the swill IN ONE DAY? I've been to London, folks, and they have as much access to overpriced corporate coffee shops as you and me.

Still, personal experience tells me they are onto something. It certainly would explain the howler monkey on my back doing an incredibly funky rendition of "Shake Your Groove Thing."

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If you are dying to read tangentially about my other love muscle, go over to DadCentric.com.

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