I'm High as a Kite, I Just Might, Stop to Check You Out

Never ever let me drink coffee again. At least not a whole lot of it.

Yesterday, if for no other reason than because I felt like it, I stopped into the deli across the street from my office for a cup of coffee at work. I'm not usually a coffee drinker; I prefer tea. But my boss drinks boatloads of coffee, and his hazelnut blend always smells so good.

So I got myself a 20-oz. cup. Sadly, part of the reason I picked that cup was because I knew that refills later would cost only 50 cents. Oh, what a mistake this turned out to be.

I finished the entire cup before noon. While I can't say my heart started racing, I could definitely feel something going on. I was floating, but in a good way. I was more productive at work than I've been in a while, because somehow I was able to find a singular purpose. My fingers flew across the keyboard, making arguments left and right, and where I wasn't making arguments, I was making notes about what arguments I would be making in that section. I was on fire.

Walking slowly down the hall became something of a challenge. I felt with every muscle in my body that I wanted to be doing something else, like running, or pull ups, or something that engaged more muscle activity than sitting on my big fat ass on this fancy office chair. So I got up to take a walk.

My walk took me back to the deli, where I suddenly realized my empty coffee cup was, in fact, in my hand. What fortuity! I refilled my 20-oz. coffee cup (with French vanilla this time) and paid 55 cents. Strolling out the door, I took another sip of this newfound manna. Mmmm, heaven.

I went to play poker (as is my Tuesday night routine) that night and had a great time, if for no other reason than I was more outgoing than I usually am. This, you see, was because I was buggin'. Thankfully, I was bantering with people who were cool about it, even though I found myself employing such epithets as "bitch" (specifically "punk-ass bitch") (directed exclusively to men), "bastard," and "son of a bitch." (For the record: yes, some of these guys were actually quite cute). I also whined excessively about my exceedingly short stack which required me to go all-in on a J-3 suited (which hit two jacks on the board, quadrupling my money and keeping me in the game for another 45 minutes or so).

Then I went home, watched some tv, ate some cold pizza, and crawled into bed. The clock on the wall read 11:45 when I crawled into bed.

I didn't get to actually sleep until 2:30.

I was up again at 8:30 after repeatedly employing the snooze button.

Do not ever let me drink that much coffee again.