There have been apocalyptic events on Earth at least a few times before, I think it’s fair to say. And each time, life prevailed. Not every light was extinguished. Instead, a small percentage of living creatures endured to crawl through the hellish wasteland that had once been their nurturing home, eking out a living in an environment now so inhospitable, anyone thinking rationally would have given in to death. Traumatised, diminished, desperate, they found a way to survive.

And some of those creatures are our ancestors. Some of those creatures gave us our DNA.

Who knows, maybe their trauma is coded into us, lying dormant, along with all the other inherited trauma.

Maybe we won’t rest until we find our way back to the abusive planet we once knew, so we can play out our vain fantasy of changing its mind about us. Proving our worth. Saving ourselves from its wrath.

I guess this is what I think about when I cut out coffee.