As I sit here writing this piece, I think of the many, many cups of bottomless coffee I have nursed, in many different places. Hissing out of a Keurig automatic machine, delicately French-pressed, lovingly poured through a pour over or sloshing from the carafe of a diner waitress, coffee has always been there and has always satisfied.

I remember when I first started drinking coffee. It must have been about 10th grade, when I was 15 or 16. I listened to too much Black Flag and idolized singer Henry Rollins, and especially loved their song “Black Coffee.” I decided I had to force myself to like it. So, I learned how to use my mom’s drip pour-over to make myself cup after cup, as I slightly recoiled at the bitter taste.

But soon, I stopped wincing at the taste and just accepted it. And soon after that, I kind of enjoyed it. Not long after that, I was in love.

It’s the simplest drink order, and every gas station, diner, fast food joint, cafe and even some vending machines could quench my thirst. “Black coffee, please.” It was a relaxing ritual after school, I’d walk into the kitchen, make myself a cup, sit down with my laptop, and browse the Web, blowing on my mug and taking a satisfying sip every once and awhile.

And soon, coffee would become a much loved tool. Stayed up too late? Grab a cuppa joe. Burned out halfway through the afternoon? An espresso couldn’t hurt! Need something to go with those eggs? Break out the aeropress! Maybe I’m just bored? Caffeine will give me something to do!

Through the long and the short of it, when I have coffee, I have a tool, I have inspiration, I have a delicious, hot, steaming cup of warmth, comfort and enthusiasm. I find that I write best when I’m drinking a hot cup, whether it’s a song, an article, a paper or code for my classes. For sure, I would not have survived many a project had it not been for my caffeinated friend.

Whenever I visit a new city, the first thing I try to do is figure out the best place for a cup of coffee. And when I find it, I be sure to make a mental note for every future visit. There’s Austin Java in Austin, Texas, The Senator Restaurant in Toronto, Canada, and Kelly’s Diner in my hometown of Amherst, Mass., just to name a few. And on the RIT campus, there is nothing quite like a good cup from Beanz in the morning.

And to this day, that love affair continues. I have an automatic coffeemaker in my kitchen, set to make a fresh pot every morning at 6, so when I wake up, I am greeted by the smell of a fresh pot of french-roasted Colombian goodness. I should probably cut back at some point, but I think I’ll be alright for now. Hey, is the room shaking for you too, or is it just me?