This is a pen. A what? A pen. A what? A pen. Oh, a cup!

[Note: this was supposed to be finished yesterday, but then too much life happened. Therefore, this is the post where everything goes to shit. Bear with me.]

Hello kittens. I am currently sitting at work with approximately 24 oz. of free-for-me caffeine pounding through my veins. I’m considering the pros and cons of an intravenous caffeine drip. Between girlfriend’s half-asleep existential interrogation, That Cat’s hell-raising, and roomie’s night terrors I slept approximately zero last night. I feel like a giant squid punched me in both eye sockets. Fortunately, I start Thanksgiving vacation in less than 10 work hours. Unfortunately, the perfect equation for debilitating distractedness = sleep deprivation + workitis [n. sudden illness, disability, or even death brought on by participation in unrewarding work activities. Severity of symptoms is dependent on proximity to vacation time or leave of absence].

Case in point: the hour I spent looking in this dark corner of the internet. Or this one.

Will I reward my body’s survival skills by eating a nutritious dinner and getting to sleep early? Come on, you guys know me better than that. Obviously I’ll get together with friends, drink too much red wine, and potentially tattoo a unicorn onto my forehead. [Note: no unicorn on my forehead, but I did receive a prison-style tattoo. I also ended up with a Christmas mural drawn on my back, and a yogic French bulldog on my forearm. Don’t worry mom, neither of those are permanent. But the semicolon on my ankle definitely is.]

 This week I’ve oscillated between soul-deadening apathy and apocalyptic anxiety. The resultant middle ground seems to be an unshakeable and very sarcastic grumpiness. For example. Because 1) girlfriend has no concept of “mountain pass”, and 2) I have the tact of a grizzly bear the following exchange occurred last night:

A: Are you anxious about the trip to Montana?
Me: Probably, yeah. The drive stresses me out.

A: Well what’s the worst that could happen?
Me: We die. Can we sleep now?

To top things off, I decided to stop indulging in my nightly clove. Partially because it was slowly evolving into a nightly-plus-anytime-I’m-stressed-or-bored clove. But mostly so I could run the Turkey Trot and not look like a fool in front of my mom. It’s not the first time I’ve gone 24 hours without inhaling nicotine and fiberglass, but knowing I won’t have my usual wind down smoke session makes me anxious. Because, creature of habit.

You guys, Thanksgiving happens so soon! I’m sure this surprises nobody, but Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. As far as I can tell it’s a holiday of all pros and no cons.

[Note: yesterday this is where I wanted to list the pros (friends, family, socially acceptable overindulgence, etc.) and the cons (none) but my brain is mushy today. Some nights you might drink a bottle of Two Buck Chuck, invent and subsequently lose a game called ‘Ass Wars’, and have to be escorted out of a stranger’s house when you accidentally walk into their living room. I mean, theoretically those are things that could happen to a human, causing them to lose focus.]

“I want to have a message at the end, because I’ll always want that. If you have a dream, you should have it in your heart...face.” --Hannah Hart

Moral of the story: drinks and ink are a dangerous combination. Keep it real, weirdos.

-b