Every morning when I wake up void of inspiration and purpose I make the active choice to fill that emptiness with liquid cocaine, or as some call if coffee. Or as rich obnoxious people probably say “CAAAAAUUUUUU-fee” because wealth seems to provoke long and drawn out speech. Enough chit chat about the obnoxious cadence of a rich person’s speech. It’s time to talk about the three phases of caffeination.
So your alarm goes off and you peel your eyelids open only to hear the first barrier of crust breaking. A faint pink-hued light seeps through your eye-protection flaps but you’re not quite there yet. So you pry again. This time a thicker layer of crust crumbles to the mattress beneath your flaccid frame. One more attempt and all the light floods into your cornea, which I assume is part of your eye. You take in the visual world around you while inhaling the odorous dishes you were too lazy to clear the night before. You’re truly lucky to be alive. You swivel your bottom half to the edge of the bed and lower your feet to the hell flames below. Now it’s time to start your journey to the kitchen.
Suddenly staring at the ceiling and judging by the protuberance on your forehead you have collided with the door frame in a tired haze. You crawl into the kitchen, fetch a coffee filter, and pour the grounds inside. Now you fill the water portion of the coffee maker with the rust-laced water your home provides you with. You stare at it until it stops making obnoxious noises. It done and time to drug yourself. So you smoke some meth. But now it’s time to drink your morning cup of joe. You pour the coffee slowly into a mug you picked yourself because you live alone due to the aforementioned pungent dish-ware. You hold the coffee pot up way too high in hopes that it will make a perfectly round splash in slow motion like it does in commercials. However, you remember that this is actually tragic reality and instead in sprays up into your crusty eye-sockets, searing every body part in its path. As you fly backwards in horror you concuss on the corner of a cabinet while slicing your achilles tendon on the edge of an open drawer. Unfortunately you are not Achilles so you live through this excruciating pain until it finally subsides and you can try the coffee pour again. You do so with more grace this time and almost 50% lands in your mug. You go to the fridge to grab the glorious snow liquid of a witches’ tit or creamer as the rich say. You fill the 60% of the mug that still remains empty and now you have your white coffee. It’s time to take it outside.
You look in the mirror to make sure you look like a humble mixture of unattractively cozy but kind of precious because you’re the “girl next door.” With a slab of hair matted straight down the middle of your face you’ve nailed it. So you grab your cup of morning hyper goo and sit down outside in hopes that an agent will see how relatable you are and how charming of an actress you would be. You remember the commercials once again so your hold the cup in both hands and waft the aroma into your smell holes. You then toss it down your gullet slowly as you feel it scorch your insides. Although you want to scream in pain, you understand that the “girl next door” would never act in such a way so you smile and suck the tears back.
Now it is twenty minutes post-sip. You are extremely loose both sexually and bowel-wise. You know that the perfect “girl next door” would never poop but she also would not fart. Since pooping takes place inside but farting takes place everywhere, you go inside where the agent can’t find you. You sit on the toilet, and hear an explosion somewhere in the distance. It wasn’t in the distance. You’re in denial that the force at which you passed gas broke the sound barrier. But fortunately you are currently lighter than you ever thought possible. In fact you begin to levitate. So you float back out to the porch.
You are confused at how so much came out of you so fast but you ignore it because you are the “girl next door.” Now the inspiration-phase of caffeination is setting in. Your thoughts are racing and you are motivated to do things you’ve never thought of. Four minutes prior you were filling a toilet bowl with shit but now shit is filling your brain with ideas that you can be anything you want. You decide today that you will beat Usain Bolt’s personal best. So you get dressed in your organ-squeezing onesie. You huff and puff as you do your dynamic stretches. You go to your mirror and stare your ugly little self in the eye to say “You.can.do.this…tomorrow.” Because your caffeine high has warn off. But you can always try again another day.
I hope you find this relatable.