Quatuor Dies

Yesterday I thought to myself, “I am on fire!”

I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. I made cyber-commentary left, right and centre. I was full of inspiration. I was moving inexorably toward whatever greatness awaits me in my blissful, utopian future.

Today, while I feel the fire, I have spent an astounding amount of time dicking around (no pun intended) with my mastubatory internet addiction – but it feels as though it is something else that’s on fire. No, not that. Get your mind out of the gutter, you filthy bastard.

See, I may have neglected to mention that apart from denying myself the alcohol for a few weeks, I am also conducting a sans sucrose experiment. Now the thing about semi-functional addicts (though for the record, we prefer self-medication to addiction) is that if we are denied one medicine, we’ll just replace it with another. In my case, being denied two medicative pastimes leaves me with no choice but to replace them with large quantities of another…

So, despite my earlier lamentation of the dwindling supply of coffee, what I did have left (did being the operative word), coupled with the continued abundance of tea has left me with a small, white-hot little blaze somewhere in the front of my skull.

Something is throbbing in my head, pulsating. It is exacerbated by every single sip of tea, though in true romantically self-destructive fashion, it has not slowed my consumption a jot. I am palpitating. I might on the verge of an aneurysm, maybe a stroke. The Wifey might come back from the desert to find me lying on the floor of the garage: a body with a splattered mess, a pool of cranial fluid, where my enormous, encyclopaedic brain used to be.

Really. It could happen.

In fact, it will sooner happen than see me attempting to cut the caffeine, the love, out of my diet as well…


~ by Gethin A. Lynes on May 4th, 2011.

One Response to “Quatuor Dies”

  1. Shit! Get that man some drugs!!!

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