To say I\u2019ve missed you would be a lie. I only ever notice you\u2019re around when you make me feel, frankly, terrible. Jittery, obviously, nervous. I tend to spill things. Like the coffee cup you come in, yes?<\/p>\n
It\u2019s not as if I\u2019ve avoided you acidulously. Just the way things have been. Fewer morning lattes, fewer shots of 5-Hour Energy Drink, fewer green tea pills. And not because I\u2019m trying! Just the vagaries of life.<\/p>\n
And yet, for all of that, I do wonder if I\u2019m getting enough done these days. I \u201cwake up,\u201d (i.e. crawl out of bed. Hard to call the next several minutes actually \u201cawake.\u201d) Stumble around the house, end up on-line, browsing increasingly stupider websites. Maybe a load of laundry goes in the washing machine. Maybe a dish or two gets rinsed and shoved into the dishwasher. On Thursdays, trash day, a bin or two gets emptied. Maybe.<\/p>\n
Remember when you and I would tackles everything<\/em>\u00a0though? Like that time we did three loads of laundry, ran 5 miles, emptied and filled the dishwasher, worked on my (our, over-caffeinated, our<\/em>) novel for an hour, vacuumed, and beat Grand Theft Auto V<\/em> ALL BEFORE NINE AM?<\/p>\n Yeah, I was sick as a dog the rest of the day, and just sort of sat in a chair and ate saltines while watching old episodes of Burn Notice<\/em> on Netflix. But still. A sense of accomplishment as my skin slowly turned gray.<\/p>\n The thing is, over-caffeinated, you\u2019re one of those friends I could maybe hang with when I was younger, once in a while, but as much fun as we had one or two times, I have to call-out the bad times too. The aforementioned jitters. The two-dozen trips to the bathroom. The heart palpitations\u2014I mean, I\u2019m in my forties now, not exactly cardiac-arrest territory, but not so alien as to be ignored, either.<\/p>\n Just \u201cusing\u201d you to \u201cget things done,\u201d isn\u2019t really an option anymore, or, if I think about it, necessary. The laundry gets done, eventually, and the dishes too. And if we\u2019re being honest, getting everything done before nine AM just leaves the rest of the day for, well, browsing increasingly stupider websites.<\/p>\n I have to pace myself. That\u2019s the lesson here, over-caffeinated. The day is 24 hours long, and even if there\u2019s lots to do, there\u2019s lots of time to do it in. And if it doesn\u2019t get done? Maybe it\u2019s not important.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t get me wrong, pal. We\u2019ll see each other again, on occasion. I\u2019ve got a few projects due at the end of the month, so I\u2019m sure I\u2019ll be giving you a call. There\u2019s that 200 mile relay race in July, of course, and we\u2019ll always<\/em> have the last few days of NaNoWriMo!<\/p>\n But not all the time. Not everyday. And I don\u2019t really miss you. Miss \u201cit,\u201d I should say. I have to stop anthropomorphizing experiences. Have to stop taking them so personally.<\/p>\n Now, if you\u2019ll excuse me, I\u2019ve got a few more letters to write. Got a few tough things to say to Mr. One Pound Bag of M&Ms.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" To say I\u2019ve missed you would be a lie. I only ever notice you\u2019re around when you make me feel, frankly, terrible. Jittery, obviously, nervous. I tend to spill things. Like the coffee cup you come in, yes? It\u2019s not as if I\u2019ve avoided you acidulously. Just the way things have been. Fewer morning lattes, … <\/p>\n