Coffee. Oh, how I love coffee. My addiction to coffee is a bit more ingrained than the dope addiction. Not only is there a tremendous amount of ritual surrounding my coffee-drinking, but the stories . . . the stories aren’t informed by the addiction but exist because of the addiction. The only way I’ve been able to write plays, essays, rants, etc., for the last ten years is with the help of coffee, and her trusty pal caffeine, and their sidekick coffeehouse. The four of us have spent long hours writing, laughing, and loving each other. But if giving up coffee prevents me from getting cancer again then I, Cancer-Ridden Katan, relinquish caffeine forever. Goodbye to the sweet steam of inspiration twirling around my nimble writer fingers, allowing them to gently brush the pages of my journal with strokes of genius. So long, clarity and potential literary greatness. Au revoir, cute barista girl, who always knows how to fill up my cup. Adieu to you and you and you.Tania Katan, My One-Night Stand with Cancer (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2005), p. 136.