Friday, 9 January 2015

Chatty little cinnaskulls.

There's been times where I felt
So alone it tried my mind
But you always showed up
Made me feel like I'm alive
Today feels just like a normal average (read: completely uncharacteristic for me) day. It's Friday. It's been nine whole days since I had any coffee and I'm just a little too even-keeled for suspicions not to be raised here. My anxiety levels are down, my kidneys sent me a thank-you bouquet and so far I haven't fallen asleep once mid-conversation. I did fall asleep inappropriately during Hercules when Ben rented it on Apple TV but it wasn't inappropriate after all because the movie was so awful. I woke up just as the credits rolled. I didn't mind a bit.

No jitters. No wild mood swings. I'm not worn out or irritable or craving coffee. It's sort of like when I quit smoking once I realized I got nothing out of it except for bad headaches so I just stopped and then I felt so wonderful but I'm also one of those terrible people who refuses to have any vices or become addicted to anything and can just stop a fledgling habit on a dime.

Except I won't give up starch. Diets don't work at all. Someone mentioned we should go gluten-free again and I laughed and then ignorantly asked if that meant I had to give up cake and potatoes because I don't remember what gluten is again so no, I'll eat those things still, please.

Well, within reason. I need more protein and vegetables. Not bananas. I'm pretty sure I glow in the dark from all the potassium in bananas because I can eat ten in a week, easy. I'm weird with food jags like that. If I open a bag of pistachios it's game-fucking-over because I will eat the whole bag. That started with licorice when I was little because I didn't want to share with the boys so I would just demolish the whole bag in half an afternoon and then they'd never know, but they always knew because I would feel so sick afterward.

So sick. I ate a whole bagful over Christmas and yes, same result. I asked Lochlan not to buy it anymore.

Because I have no self-control, it's better to just not do it all.

You see how this extends to so many areas of my life, don't you?

Yes, I know.

It also takes the pressure off because while Canada heralds the arrival of 'flat whites' to our country's Starbucks, I can just file that name away with the other coffeeish beverages I don't know the difference between, like lattes and...huh, I already forgot. So see? I don't even need to care that I don't know what these things even are, save for that brief period when the castle was within walking distance to a Starbucks and I would go (like five times in five years) and get mochas that were sickly sweet and seemed like inconsistent hot chocolate that cost five dollars.

Also how the FUCK can anyone get one of those super huge drinks? I'd have to pee for months afterward. Does being short mean my bladder is also extra-mini? Don't answer that, I think it is.

But yes, I'm very happy with my one little cup of tea in the mornings and Ben says now if we get a midday date out somewhere we'll have to shift to ice cream!


Though I would happy to continue going to the little coffee shop we like best (not a chain, just a counter with two surly employees and a few dirty tables but their music. Oh, their music. Today they were playing Merriment) because they have cinnamon rolls the size of my skull and I've always wanted to try one. I wish someone would make cinnamon bun skulls, that would be cool. Covered in royal icing with dark cinnamon pockets for eyes and a nose and then raisin teeth. I would just pick it up with both hands and sink my own teeth into the forehead and it would be the best thing ever and I would become addicted so fast everyone would wish for the days when I bummed cigarettes off them and tried to pretend I was cool.

I'm not cool at all. That's okay too.

I bet Ben would unhinge the jaw on one of those buns and make it talk. It would say want coffeeeeeeeee....and I would laugh but shake my head no.

Nice try though.