Why I'm Not A Stereotypical Writer: Reason #179

I hate coffee.

And I realized why yesterday. I brewed some Starbucks coffee that my sister got and added what I would like: sugar and lots of Cinnabon-flavored creamer. A good meal and two cups later, I was feeling nice. No writing done, but I jumped on the treadmill for an hour and sweated a bit of the caffeine out. But it didn't get much better.

My old friend anxiety came for a visit, throwing my mind into disarray with OCD-like thoughts I long ago dealt and made peace with. Along with that, my stomach started to hurt and became unbearable when I went into work for a brief closing shift. Eating some almonds during a break helped, but all the running around and helping customers still made me shaky and nervous. I feared either passing out on the floor from the inevitable crash or running out of the building, tearing my hair out in handfuls.

The shift did burn some of the energy, but the crash was gonna happen. I got home after work, ate some string cheese, and passed out before midnight.

God, I hate it when things have that big of an effect on me. Naturally, I want nothing to do with it. For those who can handle the stuff, drink on. I ain't stealing your supplies. I'll stick to tea and orange juice.

And there you go, people who wonder why I don't do drugs (besides the legal stuff). If a strong cup of coffee did this to me, what in the world would weed or cocaine do to me? And don't get me started on the effect codeine had on me after my wisdom teeth extractions.

Let's stick that into the "never happening ever" folder and shut the drawer. I'll stick to my mental illnesses, I already have enough to handle.

Long absence, explained

 Warning: the following post contains discussion about anxiety and drunkenness. Reader discretion is advised.

This time, it was not an illness. It was something just as bad, though. Ah yes, my old friend anxiety came into town a couple of weeks ago. You see, it came while I was hungover from sangria and buzzed from two cups of coffee and a baby bottle of Coca-Cola. Next thing I know, I wasn't sleeping well and barely functioning at work. Atop that, I had to prepare for my best friend's bridal shower. So much to do and yet anxiety wanted so badly to derail all my plans (including drafting out plans for my Camp NaNoWriMo novel). It succeeded. I could only go to work and survive the shift before returning home to sleep. Several days would pass before anxiety packed its bags and left town. I don't know when it'll return, but lemme just say that I'll never drink a full bottle of sangria in one night ever again, then chase it the next morning with coffee and Coca-Cola.

This is why I haven't written in a while or why there was no post about Camp NaNoWriMo.

~

And now I drink coffee (albeit instant). Does that make me a real writer now?