A Comedy of Errors
As I sit here in the office with my heather grey thong on (it's my rainy day favorite), I reflect on the gross unfairness of this past week of my life.
Today is day 6 of not drinking coffee, Americanos, or espresso in any form! I decided to quit drinking coffee last Saturday morning after I ran 8 miles through the city. I thought "Hey, for all this hard work I do to be healthy, I pump (on average) at least 6 shots of espresso into my body every day! I can do better than that ..." Yeah, well guess what? I CAN'T!
After 6 days of miserably going to the iced green tea with breakfast, I've realized that I am going through the early stages of caffeine withdrawal. You see, dear readers, I thought the claims that 'caffeine is a drug' were just a bunch of hocus pocus. Apparently they're not!!! Johns Hopkins even just did a study on the dangers of Caffeine Withdrawal ... wish I had known about that 6 days ago (I blame my new assistant, but more on her later).
I have undergone the following hell in the past 6 days due to weaning myself off caffeine (read: quitting cold turkey):
1) Headaches. These aren't just "Oh I wish I had a coffee" headaches; no no, these are "Somebody get this goddamn Acela train out from behind my forehead before I KILL someone" headaches. Do you think 2 Excedrin could clear up pain like that? Neither did I ... so I took 5. I felt a whole lot better after that, but it left me thinking "Is this really worth it? I could have keeled over like Judy Garland from taking that much anti-inflammatory. OR I could have had one sweet cup of coffee. Hmmm." I found out that the headaches are caused by an overexcessive amount of blood in the head when you quit drinking caffeine. GROSS! "Bleed me doctor, it's the only way!"
2) Nausea. I've never been pregnant and don't plan on being in such a state in the near future, so I have always been a big naysayer when I see the early throes of morning sickness in pregnant women. Well NAYSAY NO MORE! The mere sight of food for about three days had me so nauseated, I didn't think I could stand it. I missed two big client receptions this week because I couldn't even consider food or alcohol. Actually, the nausea may be doing wonders for my figure. Scratch this one from the record; it's a go!
3) Irritability. Anyone who saw me on Wednesday can attest to this one. I fought with Chaz all day over something as low as ... don't laugh ... designer jeans?! First it was the designer jeans, then it turned into a fight over a drag queen pageant. I cried for the first time in about a year over designer jeans and a drag queen pageant. I'm going to let that sink in for a second. Okay, WHAT WAS I THINKING? I even locked Asa out of the condo inadvertantly and then cried about that. Next time I'm going to avoid the insult and injury and just take a quick sip (it's only a sip, I can quit any time I want).
4) Difficulty Concentrating. Okay; I haven't blogged significantly in weeks! I wrote a post about seeing a crack-head? What was I thinking? According to the Johns Hopkins study, it probably wasn't much. I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at work checking Craigslist, gmail, other DC blogs, and a fundraising website I belong to. That's about it. Snacking wasn't even an option because I was too nauseated to eat! Yesterday and today have been better as far as the concentrating go, but my conversations have sounded like verbal diarrhea I'm sure. And for that, I apologize.
5) Exhaustion. I thought at first this could have been because of the increases in running mileage, but the area underneath my usually youthful and mesmerizing eyes tells a different story. I've shelacked every marketed eye cream on these anomolies and there is nary a reduction in the size of my lower eyelids (we don't use the "b" word). Do you know the shamefulness of half a dozen people EACH morning saying "Wow, Sassy, you look tired!" Tired? TIRED? You mean OLD, don't you! (Note: author's irritability may be caused by reduced caffeine intake)
So as if all this wasn't bad enough, I have a new assistant. We'll call her "Shakira." Shakira is, I'm sure, a really sweet girl. She's probably about 24, has three children, and lives in a one-bedroom apartment with her family and her sister's family. How do I know this, you ask? Because SHE TOLD ME. She stands at the door to my office, rambling incoherently, ignoring the fact that the phone is ringing off the hook. She doesn't file, she barely types, she can't speak to my clients, and she has a permanent glazed-over stare when I talk to her. I know from her lack of production that she doesn't understand a word I'm saying, nor does she take the initiative to ask questions when she doesn't. I didn't hire her, if that's what you're thinking. She was hired by HR and sent to torture me.
So I ask you, dear readers, between lack of coffee and the onslaught of Shakira, can this week get any worse?