Surge

My heart beats a little faster, and my chest feels full. “OK, I know I should be doing something productive with this.” But I don’t.

I felt low, unmotivated, so I went for the espresso latte, and now I’m eager and ready. But I don’t do what I should.

I should be cleaning my closets, folding my laundry, organizing my computer software—anything that accomplishes a tangible goal. But I don’t.

It’s the curse of caffeine. Now that I’m drugged, I want to do something fun like play online video games or e-mail my friends, maybe write a story for my blog, but definitely not do the dishes or run to the washing machine.

Now that I’m buzzed, I want to read a novel or call my mom. I want to bake cookies, not whole bran muffins. I want to tell stories to my dog, not walk her.

And then I come down off the buzz, the caffeine crash, and all the chores still wait for me, needing my attention. I slog through them like an automaton, not thinking much, only, “When will this be over so I can get my next coffee?”