The Praying Bag Lady

I saw her sitting by the street asking for rides. She looked harmless. She didn't look like she would stick a gun to my throat. Show me on this ketchup bottle where the bad lady touched you. None of those scenarios seemed to pertain to her.

"We should pick her up," I said to my friend as we walked out of the Arby's from our pathetic lunch break.

"No, we shouldn't." She said to me, holding her drink in one hand and the sack of unfinished food in the other.

We waved goodbye to some of our friends and started to get in the car to head back to school and work.

"But it's Valentine's Day," I said to her, "It's fucking Valentine's." Not to change the subject or anything, but I hate when people say Valen-times day. It shows their true colors. The technicolor trash that's reminiscent of trailer parks and buck teeth.

"Yeah, but it being a holiday doesn't justify picking up a stranger."
"But, it's Valentine's Day," I said, stressing the holiday with more importance, "Nothing bad happens on Valentine's Day."

Bad things do happen on Valentine's Day. It's actually a day that marks a horrible massacre that took place between two crime gangs in the late 1920's. Capone rings a bell (and pulls a trigger).

"OK, whatever. But hurry up, I need to get back to class."
"I have to be at work in 30 minutes anyway," I said, balancing the situation.

I walked up to the 60-something year old lady that was attempting to hitch a ride with whoever would help her out. I would be putting her in harm's way if I didn't pick her up. I know I'm not going to cut her up and stuff her in my trunk. I don't know that the man with two kids whom she was about to ask for a ride wouldn't do that. Crazies come in all shapes and sorts now a days.

"I'll give you a ride, ma'am," I said to her, saving her from her future doom that would (could) have taken place.

"Thank you, son," she said to me with a grin. Her dark and weathered skin was cracked from the wind and lack of shelter. Her small body was covered in layers of flannel and heavy coats. She smelled odd. Like when you leave clean clothes in the washer for too long. Then you have to re-wash them.

"So, where you headed?" I asked her as she hopped into the backseat of the car.

I'm an avid hitchhiker-picker-upper. I do this more than my friends and family approve of. There have been more than one instance where I would be talking on the phone and someone on the other end would start yelling at me: "Nick, don't pick them up...Nick, now listen!" I usually hang up as I'm telling them I'll call them back.

Something about picking up a stranger is mystifying to me. It's got nothing to do with that Joan Osbourne song. I just think that it makes for a good story. That, and if the shoe was on the other foot, I would want someone to stop and help me out.

"I just need to get to my sister's home," She said to me.
"And where is that?"
"Just head down Veterans," She instructed, "It's only like five minutes from here."

It's never how short they say it is. Five minutes in hitchhiker minutes is no less than ten or fifteen. I mean, it makes sense to fib a little. The general public is so quick to not go out of their way that when someone actually does show compassion, then someone like a hitchhiker doesn't want to lose that. So they soothe the driver. They make them think that they're not a burden.

They're never my burden. They don't know that. They'll never really know that. Society has taught them nothing less than that.

"Thank you so much, son," She said to me as she was fiddling in her purse.
"You're welcome," I told her, "It's really no problem."
"You two married?" She asked, pointing with her chin towards my friend in the passenger seat who was doing a good job at staying semi-silent.
"No," My friend responded.
"We're just friends," We said simultaneously.

Jinx.

"I'll give you some gas money," She said kindly, "I know I have to have something I can give you in here somewhere."
"Don't worry about it," I assured her, "It's really not a problem."

I saw my friend getting nervous as the bag lady was rummaging around in her bag that may as well have been her home. I don't get nervous at times like these.

"What's wrong, son?" She said to me.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"What's wrong? You sick?" She eyed the prescription bottle of pills I had resting in the pocket of the center console where the gear shift was.
"Oh, that," I said, "That's just my stomach medicine."

I always said "stomach medicine" because I felt too young to say "ulcer." Then I got comfortable saying "ulcer" so I later named him Uriah.

"You got problems?"
"Yeah," I said, avoiding the word, "Ulcer."
"You're too young to have an ulcer," She said to me.

I was too young to have an ulcer. She was right. My Mom was right too.

"What's wrong?" She asked again, this time asking more about why I had it. But she asked in a weird way. Kind of like she was asking what was wrong in a deeper meaning.
"I may or may not have caused it due to drinking," I said, embarrassingly.

I was 19. There was no reason to have a vodka-induced medical condition. I liked my poison.

"I'll pray for you," she said.
"Don't sweat it," I told her, knowing that it was a lost cause to pray.

I took some more directions from her and we ended up in a shifty area of town ten minutes after the five minutes she told us that it would have taken us to get to her sister's home. She kind of just pointed to a cluster of buildings and said that we could drop her off right where we were.

She could have easily been lying. In fact, I know that she just wanted to get to that end of town. I'm sure her sister didn't really live in those buildings. If she did, then she probably wouldn't have been living out of her bag. She probably would have been crashing on her sister's couch.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I told her.
"Thanks, son," she said again, "Here you go, I know it's not much--"

I cut her off.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I said again, reassuring her that there was no need to pay me in any form or fashion.
"I'll pray for you," she said as our eyes met in the rear-view mirror.
"Don't sweat it," I said, knowing that it wouldn't matter either way.

Don't Be a Sissy. Walk Into That Stranger's Home.

"Come on," someone said (it could have easily been me, my sister, or our childhood friend), "it's not like anyone's home."

"I don't know how I feel about this," that one was probably me.

It didn't take much convincing before the three neighborhood sleuths were breaking and entering. It's not really breaking and entering if you don't break anything. That's right around the time where a window broke. We didn't throw anything at it. We didn't take a brick to it. We had no intention on breaking it. In fact, I don't even remember how it broke. I just remember that it broke.

There were houses going up in our neighborhood at a steady pace around the time I was that age (and I don't really know what age "that" age is, but I know it's substantially younger than "this" age), and as bored youngsters, we would, at times, take it upon ourselves to check out the homes in construction. I mean, it was our neighborhood first, right?

On this one particular inspection, we were interrupted by the occupants of the home-in-progress. It would be a way better story if we ran into squatters or some junkie with a needle sticking out of his or her arm, but we were in Georgia (which, now when I think about it, I feel a little let down that we didn't see squatters or a junkie with a needle sticking out of his or her arm) and in a good part of town. One of us went around back and that's where we saw him.

His name doesn't really matter for the story. It doesn't matter that he became a good neighbor or that he was as dangerous as a gnat. What matters is the fear that was embedded into our bodies. No matter how "bad ass" you are, or pretend to be, especially at "that" age, when a grown up catches you doing something you know you shouldn't probably be doing (trespassing), then you automatically clam up.

"Hey, can I help you guys?" He said to us.
Of course, we didn't really know what to say. We kind of looked at one another because we thought that whoever spoke up would get it first. Whoever gave the reasoning on why we were about to enter this man's house would be the one who was at fault. They would be the one to sacrifice their well-being because we knew that he couldn't catch all three of us. As always, I spoke up.
"We're just looking" I stammered. There was nothing to really look at.
"You want to come in? My wife and I are just cleaning some things up" He told us.

This is where real fear sets in. This is where you don't know what to do. To decline would be rude because obviously we were looking for something (we were looking for nothing). To accept would be dumb because this is the exact situation our parents warned us about.

I remember looking up the road and seeing my house. I remember being able to see the sun start to go down. I remember thinking of how this man was going to more than likely slash my throat to make an example out of me. But he was so nice.

"Sure," someone said.

We all walked close to one another as if the three of us were bigger when stuck together. It seemed logical at the time, but then again, we were three minors walking into an empty house with a man whose name we didn't even know who claimed to have a wife who we had never seen. It is the prime example of a stranger patrolling the park and telling a kid to get in the car because their parents were in a wreck and they were sent to pick them up.

We walked in behind the man and heard someone upstairs. We heard thuds. We heard things being dropped. I heard a broom. This made me feel better. The sound of bristles on the ground made me think that yes, there was a wife up there. Wives clean. She's cleaning. But what if they were a fucked up couple? My mom instilled fear into me at a young age. No one is worth trusting unless they're in your family tree, and things like that.

Nonetheless, everything was OK. He had a wife. She was sweeping up saw dust, not bones or bodies. She was cleaning the walls. She wasn't bleaching blood stains. That late afternoon we all saw the worst case scenario but still went along with it because it was easier to comply than to stand on our own two feet.

What happens when you're "this" age and you still run into these conflicts? I'm not implying that I've been invited into a stranger's home and had internal conflicts about it, because if that were to happen today, I would probably bring a bottle of wine with me and call it a night. I love strangers. I always have.

Seeing the worst case scenario is something I think we're all prone to doing. This used to happen to me more than now, but I think it's because as you get older, you realize that you can actually take care of yourself. As things in life unravel, you learn that you can handle pretty much more than God is willing to dish out, and once you overcome things, you'll be able to not see the bad in things as much as you see the good or the unseen.

A lot of people call that being gullible. You're naive. You're a complete moron.

I like to think that bad shit will happen if it's meant to happen. Or I like to think that when it actually happens, is when I'll take care of it. I lived too many of my "that" age years living in constant fear of the unknown. It was pathetic. Sure, it kept me out of harm's way as much as it could, but you're never really safe from everything. You're not safe from things that are inevitably going to happen regardless of how bad you don't want them to happen.

Shit happens.

Especially now. We're in an economical crisis. "A crisis will make a normal man do crazy things." That's what my Dad said. That's not really what my Dad said, but he's said something along those lines. Probably in Greek. But it all translated to something similar (I'm sure).

Living for your future rather than in fear of your future is something that I've been trying to get together. It's just odd to think about. A lot of people fear the unknown but still go head first into unstable situations. That, to me, is a little respectable. It's when you fear the unknown, then label the unknown with the association of everything that could potentially go bad, which in turn, hinders you from actually living life, is when I think that something needs to be evaluated.

Don't walk into a stranger's home. Don't take candy from them. Don't end up on the 9 o'clock news. But you shouldn't potentially "not" make news for yourself by sitting around and fearing what life will throw at you next. Take baseball lessons. Become the catcher. Catch that shit and and send life back to the dugout until it comes back with more shit. It might be on steroids, but you'll manage. I swear.

and a "hallelujah" for the win

it's been a minute since i took the time to write for me. don't take me wrong. i write.

see: audioholic media

but i wanted to write for me tonight. i'm in that mood that settles with the tapping of the keyboard rather than with the flipping of pages, glasses of wine, or bright shine on the wall behind me from the television while watching a movie, alone and naked, in the dark.

if that's not melodramatic, i really don't know what is.

it's funny that my friend brought up jeff buckley the other day. everyone turns to certain things when they're down and out. my kind of people usually turn to their own type of religion.

my type of people usually turn to music.

i'm not bashing your virgin mary.
i'm not doubting your almighty god.
i'm not knocking on christ.

i'm just saying that, at times, melodies can fill a void that praying won't fill.
it's easier to find comfort in something you can feel.

i feel music.
i'm sure i'll feel god (again) one day.

i'm not saying he isn't there. i'm saying that perspective is put into concrete forms for me when i have something to sway my head to. that concrete perspective is solidified for me when i can feel the lyrics from the internal speakers of my computer. i can feel better when i'm in the shower and the stereo speakers muffle out the scolding water hitting me and covering my body. i can feel better when the steam rises and coats the mirror and the better part of my contact lenses.

that's when i feel.
that's when things make more sense.

maybe music is my god.
maybe god knows this.
maybe god snuck into my itunes.

that would make sense. that would make me feel better about things that i don't have the answers to. shuffle and repeat.

i got off track--my friend brought up jeff buckley the other day.
"hallelujah" was the song that came up in retrospect.

"do you like jeff buckley?"
"yeah."

and that's where it stared. sometimes, when something as strong as a song means something stronger than the average person's faith to someone--it's better to leave some things unexplained.

i get this.

you wouldn't go up to someone and ask them what they just spilled in their confessional. if they willingly tell you--that's a different story. some things are better left un-pried.

i used to listen to this song a lot. i mean "a lot" in the truest form.
i'm kind of glad it made its way into my friend's life. maybe not in the same way that it came into mine--but regardless, it's something to share with someone.

"hallelujah"



i knew the song before the movie the edukators. but it kind of came into perspective when i watched the film one night. it's one of those films that watch better when alone. it's a foreign film, so you'll have to do some reading. but the beauty in the film is in the message. and the message wraps itself up really well. you almost don't need to read the subtitles.

i mean--you do--but you don't.

it all came crashing into me when this song played in its entirety. this was surreal to me for some reason because like i said, the song played in its entirety, which i thought was really cool.

i remember feeling empty and full all at the same time.
i remember feeling like i had a heart and like someone broke it.
i remember feeling like no one could mend a heart.

i remember feeling like if there was one thing throughout the rest of my life that i could count on to mend something that was broken--that it had to be music.

i'm not saying that i don't have family or friends. i'm not implying that someone couldn't fix a broken problem. i'm simply saying that they would simply be a catalyst. they would be the spark. but the music would be the patch.

the music would be the "hallelujah" in my life.

nothing would be fixed until a song put something into perspective.
that would be my sign.

people find god in all sorts of weird places. i found him in the arizona sunrise once. i found him in a few of my favorite novels. i found him in the wind.

maybe that's what really matters at times--is that you can find your god in whatever you hold close to your heart. that means more to me than sunday mass. that means more to me than a title or designated religion.

i don't really know where the direction of this blog was meant to end up. i'm not sure where it started, where it led, or where it ended. but i know that playing this song again, and again, and again--just fixed something.

that crazy crow has my death certificate

so, for the last two mornings--i've been awakened by a constant thudding on the side of my house.

at first, i disregarded the noise because i thought it was one of the little kids next door.

they love to play, throw balls, and run ramped through my yard as well as through the street.
so, i figured--let them play. they're young, right? it won't be long until they're going to college, controlling their vices, and figuring out what it is they want to do with their life.

plus, 2012 is looming--hello, karma.



i lifted myself off of the couch, because apparently, that is my new bed.
i have totally disregarded my bedroom for the last month or so. i don't know why, but i just can't sleep in my room. the last time i was having these problems it took me forever to get back into the groove of things.

i dream in cotton t-shirt sheets and comfort under my lower back.



that's my ghetto bed. don't judge. i don't like bed frames.
i'm minimal.

so, i walked to the front door because that's where i was hearing all the racket.
what do i see?

not a small child running through the yard and playing racquetball off the side of my house, but instead, i see a black crow trying to get into the house



through the window on your right.

it just kept flying into it...over...and over.

my initial thought was:



this.

but then i started getting creeped out. i'm not a fan of birds to begin with. they are shifty little creatures and my second thought was:



this.

then, i wanted everything to simmer down just a little...so i redirected my attention to something with a lighter mood. everyone loves the beatles, right?



i sat there and watched this crow fly into the window for about a minute and a half. it was trying to get completely over the house...i think.

but, kept getting side tracked and detouring into the glass.

there has always been something creepy about birds flying into windows. i even wrote about it last year in the novel treatment i'm conjuring up. it's a really uncomfortable scene. it makes it even more uncomfortable when it's a crow.

when i was talking to my mother later that afternoon, i mentioned the creepy crow.



that's my mom.
she says, "happy new year."

my mom is extremely superstitious. i try not to be. when i was growing up though, that was a different story. this lady embedded scenarios into my head that i'll never get away from. they were all greek superstitions at that--which--any greek will tell you--always seem to be the worst kinds of superstitions.

the superstitions in greece are alive for the sole purpose of making you feel threatened by something as minimal as the glare that someone gives you...or even a damn compliment from someone.

my mother gasped at the crow story. she made that "tisk" sound that someone makes when they are way into their head, digging around through all the horrible shit that could go wrong.

she kept going on and on in greek about how that isn't good.
ultimately, in translation to her greek, it meant that it was a bad omen.



not that omen...this one.

today--it happened again.
i was awakened by the same bird.

i'm not a superstitious person. i mean, to some degree, i guess i am.

but i did some research above what my mom was telling me. because moms never tell the whole story. after reading through discussion boards and spiritual websites...this is what was constantly repeated, in some form or fashion:

"Many people believe that a bird tapping at the window is also an omen of impending death to one of the house's occupants. This belief, associating the entry or interest of a bird in the home or its occupants, stems from the ancient belief that birds are actually the messengers of departed souls, or the souls themselves, come back to guide those soon to die."

i'm the only occupant of this house.
and i've always told people that i have that feeling that i won't live long, hence the reason i live so much every day.

that bird is going to take me out, i'm sure of it. maybe i'll feel more threatened when he leaves a scroll tied with a red ribbon at the foot of my door. he always comes knocking around the same time of the day--maybe i'll skip my first class to see if swings by again.

after all, it would be rude to leave when you think you're expecting a visitor, right?
if i do skip class, i'll record it...it could be a fun experiment.

until next time
-nick

coincidentally coincidental

just before we get started:





in case you wanted to see it, there is the new tattoo sans layers of peeling flesh and scabs that do no justice to the color-work.

if i were in a zombie flick--



those fuckers would have found me first, via the trail of miniature scabs that flaked off for almost a week.

i contemplated saving them all up and putting them in a baggie to sell for when i get famous.
then someone could make a mini-voodoo doll or do some crazy science experiment in which they created a clone of me.

see: dolly



back to where i didn't start--

the topic of "coincidence" has been coming up lately.
i don't really know how to approach this matter other than--

fucking coincidental.

i have shirked on many of my responsibilities today.
my parents usually come down on mondays but were busy so they decided to rain-check this week.

which, coincidentally worked out for me because i had a lot of work to do and was going to ask if they stayed put this week because i really needed an extra day to catch up on some stuff.

see:



and

.

and like i said: i've shirked on some major things i need to get done.
but, i think that it all worked out just fine because my crazy started to fizzle out a few hours ago.

i feel really good about a lot of different things in my life right now.
i just hope they stay good.

stability helps every now and again.
but, don't take me wrong-- i know how to work around that shit.
i'm a human architectural mishap.



i can maneuver around shifty foundation more than i would like.
it's in my character.

someone called me an "emotional pack mule" and told me that i "carry everyone's emotional baggage so they don't have to."



i will agree whole heartedly on this statement.

it's always been in my nature to take on other peoples' short comings.
it's not to say that all the shortcomings of others are bad traits that they have--it's just to be assumed that no two people are exactly alike.

what i don't find frustrating in other people
are what other people find frustrating in me

and vice versa.

i get too invested at times into certain people in my life.
it's not a bad thing--because i feel like i'm paying back what was invested into me.

i was a mess last year.



a complete and utter mess.
i was finding emotional comfort in all the wrong places.

more or less, i was utilizing vodka as a means to an end.



so says my swollen liver.

pretty much, i was looking for comfort in all the wrong places.
it's not to be assumed that i didn't know i was being a shit-bag--
it's just that i was in a spot in my life that i didn't really care.

i was over caring. not to be confused with over-caring.
i was let down way too many times and i didn't want to care--so, i was selfish--
i drank--a lot-- i shirked on my responsibilities, certain friends were fed up with me, and i was too caught up with the shit that doesn't matter.

certain people invested in to me rather than throwing in the towel.
thank you.

so--that's why i get invested at times. i like to think i'm selective about the people i currently let into my life.

if they're there--they are there for a reason.
if the relationship becomes too much to bear, then i have to weigh shit out.

i have to throw everything on a scale



and see what it is certain people offer me.

pros and cons.
is it worth my energy?
is it worth my time?

the people who i can dismiss completely--well, those people don't really matter.
i've let people like that out of my life recently. i'm civil when i see them (which isn't often) but i don't confide in them. i don't do anything other than have the half-assed: "hey, what's up" kind of conversation--and at times--i avoid that too.

it's the ones that take time to consider that offer value.

it makes you aware that they were important in your life at one point or other and it makes you wait around to see if they've

a.) lost their way
b.) changed completely
c.) don't value you

and once you've figured it out...it's all upstream from there.

so--even though this day was shirked on--i feel really good about a lot of things.
and i think everything coincidentally worked out for the best because my head is in a place where it needs to be.

it's in a place that i remember.

until next time
-nick

you "might" want to read this--and by "might"--i mean "do"

[forward: don't mind the minor nudity--i don't like clothes when sitting in front of the computer]

sometimes, when i'm in a mood-- my room turns into a mini-bar.

last night-- it was a coffee bar.


(this was last night)

no barista here, bitches.
just a caffeine-addled -addicted-monster.

see: the bitch who created that monster.

tonight--on the other hand--
the caffeine took a break.

tonight--i'm breaking out the big guns and doing a science experiment.


(this is right now)

call me: bill nye the science guy--if you will--and you do.

there is no true rhyme of reason for my "crazy". i know when it settles. i know when it brews.
and today--around 5:00--it rented a room and i knew that it would be kicking it for the evening.

no need to fight it. the "crazy" can get a little crazy sometimes.

also: no need to take action. no need to set me up for an alcoholics anonymous meeting or anything of that nature. no need to prescribe me to anti-depressants. if you're already thinking in that nature you have it all wrong.

i embrace the "crazy" that comes and goes. at times, (some) friends don't really get it. those are the ones that i think i should worry about. those are the ones who are constantly trying to make everything okay when in reality--life has ups and downs.



the stable ones scare me.
i'm not the stable one.



is that the face of a stable one?

i don't think so.

side bar: [i was just told (via blackberry) that the creative ones are never normal. i'll take that. i'll coddle it. i'll give it a treat.]

i think i'm programmed to have ups and downs (like most people).
i just think that being aware of those ups and downs--does indeed--have ups and downs.

i think it's how you perceive things. if you know something bad is happening and you dwell on it then i don't really have much sympathy for you.

i don't dwell. i try and lighten the mood. i try and alleviate the situation.

i break dance.



don't be fooled. that is my natural skin tone.

what i mean--not about the skin tone--is that i'm able to utilize my moods for the better.
i've mastered that fine art, more or less, over the last year and a half.

i used to be bad at it.
i used to be a ...


via videosift.com

not entirely--but to some degree.
that's never cute. that's never cool. that's not who i was/am.

it's all about perception--which brings me to today.

i had some time to kill and went to the mall.
i needed to order some more contacts and i needed a new lip ring.

i seemed to have lost mine about a month ago and have failed to get another one.
i'm still on a hunt for the right one--i'm picky.

i was approached by one of these today:



not a giant iphone.
a mall cop.

this is how that went:

i was walking at a brisk pace because they are revamping the bathrooms in the food court so i had to find a belks in order to drain my bladder (that i honestly think shrunk to the size of an almond because i do not have the ability to hold it passed one class period anymore--really--i got up twice today because i could feel myself developing prostate cancer).

mall cop: excuse me, sir.

-nick: yes.

mall cop: i'm going to have to ask you to take off your hood.

(really? because this--is my hood)



-nick: really?

mall cop: yes.

-nick: may i ask why?

mall cop: because it's mall policy.

-nick: so--let me get this straight-- i can wear my pants down to my ass, give my lover butterfly kisses on the escalator, and be 30 lbs overweight and fit myself into a tube top--but i can't wear a hood?

mall cop: sorry, sir--it's mall policy.


i should have shit in the floor.
luckily--i had to piss.

see: 2007 threatens to piss on gas station floor in colorado-roadtrip

needless to say--i conformed to their rules. i mean, if i didn't want to follow the rules i didn't have to be in the mall. i just think that it was a stupid rule. i want to go pin-point all the cholos and niggas who scout the mall whith their bandanas and doorags.



it's not like i was walking around--throwing gang signs around and bucking up to geriatrics doing their power walks at 11:00 in the a.m.


(that's what it entails of to be gangsta)

i was scouting for a set of contacts, a lip ring, and a functioning urinal for crying out loud.
which--for today--seemed coincidental for me to be a target.

watch this: click this link and watch the video to the right of the page

if there is an ad before the video--you should still watch it.

so, yeah, "little houdini" was on the loose.
i don't think they caught him--

but when i exited campus i had my hood on...and they searched my car for like an extra second.
maybe a 130lb. white boy with a hood does, in fact, pose a threat.

maybe not--regardless--i utilized my crazy.
see? if you don't--it doesn't matter--because i'm in a better mood now than i would have been an hour ago.

until next time
-nick

coffee showed me the light...literally

you know how there are some things in life where you know about them but you just don't utilize them enough?

public transportation, the window-squeegee at the gas station while you pump, career services on campus, cheap clinics, coupons...coffee.



yes. i said: coffee.

and "you can sleep when you're dead" has been the motto of my west-cost-connection for the past...too long. in fact, send her care packages. in order to survive, this bitch only needs:

+ an intern
+ one week of non-adult-related-responsibilities
+ a hair straightener
+ one or two strategically placed r.e.m. cycles
+ coffee

it's not that i've never had coffee. i've just never craved coffee. i've never found it a necessity in my daily routine. i've never been that guy who needs his cup of joe in the morning before he can function.

it's never been my oil can and i've never been the tin man.

i've never relied on caffeine.



i haven't touched a soft drink in approximately seven years.
i mean, sometimes a sprite will sneak an ounce or two in vodka or spiced rum if i've ran out of appropriate mixers...but that's about it.

so, needless to say...i was a little skeptical of this whole coffee generation.



that's the face of skepticism.

the other day, i made an effort to buy coffee at the grocery store.

i told myself: there is a coffee maker in your house from previous occupant (sister)...so, make some coffee and see what happens.

then: i forgot to buy coffee filters.

then: i went back to the store the next day to get some as well as a few more items i forgot to pick up and once again...left without the filters.

about an hour ago...my head went to coffee because i have a ridiculous amount of work to finish tonight. i figured methamphetamine is not an option in this day and age so i relied on the best thing that i've heard of since well-cooked-crack.



i thought of coffee.

i've never made my own pot of coffee at home. in fact, it is something that actually made me feel less superior as a human being. i mean, i've made coffee at work but it doesn't count because it's hooked up to the water line and all the ground beans are measured out because you make it in bulk. it's like the costco-version of coffee.



so, i managed to make my coffee after tinkering with the space machine downstairs. apparently my sister was given an extremely high-tech coffee maker. this shit brews by itself on a timer. personally, i find that a little threatening...but, to each his own, right?

i accidentally brewed six cups of this potent concotion known as coffee. seems a little hardcore for a first-timer but i figure: play hard.

right?
right.

in the last hour, i've been motivated to get shit done.



that's the face of getting shit done.

and i'm extremely interested in proposing that they sell my a.d.d. medication in this flavor.

it's like a natural anti-depressent. i'm completely serious about that. usually, when my crazy sets in and i don't want to do things...i just sort of waste away or i don't really want to do things.

even when my crazy isn't around...i still lack motivation at times. just to do simple shit. for example, my room gets kind of dark... and at times, reading in bed can become a problem.

coffee showed me light.



not that light.



this light.

it's a clunky fixture that has been sitting downstairs in an empty room begging to be utilized.
i figured i would schlep it upstairs and position it in my favor.

coffee gave me light.

it also made my "technical writing" project for my online class a little more interesting.
i'm not a fan of technical writing but i understand that it's something i need to work on.



motivate me, juan valdez.

so...tonight is going to be a long night. although i do have to work in the morning, i plan on getting shit done. if other people can do it...i can do it.

and like all good things:



enjoy in moderation.



so, i tip my hat to you, coffee.
you are my new found love.

happy valentine's day. i only need you.

until next time
-nick