What A Great Life This Must Seem . . .

Stupid neurochemistry. So even though I've been getting up when I want and sleeping as much as I need, I still need that cup o' joe to face the day. (Oh, and what tough days those are, catching up on the news, surfing the net, reading, but that's a different rant). Anyway, I read somewhere that caffeine increases intelligence, albeit briefly. This is why I scarfed down three cups of coffee within the first working hour at all the firms I worked -- best to be able to put together simple subject-verb-object sentences when the partner comes a barrellin' down the hall asking for status / insight / strategy on the cases you're working on.

Anyway, so I've been drinkin' the coffee, but without the (unwanted) stimulation of needing to draft a persuasive much less coherent motion or bracing myself for a screaming argument with other lawyers, my mind is all dressed up with nowhere to go. I know I should start on the novel and various side projects I have in my head, but even though the analytical part of my head is raring to go, the creative part of my mind is still just getting out of bed, bags under its eyes and scratching its ass. The best way to get the creative part going is to read, but my body is still jittery from the caffeine (increases the level of dopamine in the brain, though I can't remember if that's due to blocking the parts of the neurons that intake the dopamine, leaving excess dopamine coursing through the brain, or if instead caffeine is a building block of dopamine provided the brain with additional materials for dopamine - OK, so I still have some caffeine flowing through me now). So I feed the creative part some stories from an anthology of po-mo lit, but my body refuses to be still. I go through about an hours worth of reading, but the body wants to check e-mail to see if those chiquas from match.com have written back.

By the time I've finished surfing the net, there's enough dopamine coursing through me that my heart is still beating at a techno beat yet my body and the analytical part of me are exhausted. In other words, I'm jittery and tired. So I take a brief nap full of dread, and awake refreshed yet cranky. By then, the creative part of my mind is pissed at being left alone, so I read some more. It's now late afternoon, early evening. I decide to have some dinner, and maybe a beer. A beer then turns into two. Then three. The creative part of my mind is like, "I love you man. I love you. So, here's an idea, you'll love it. How about you write a story, and it turns out the narrator is dead! Or something about, you know, angels and the mafia! No, wait, that's stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. I suck. I really suck. We're gonna end up poor and living on the streets and (heavy snoring begins)." By then, I might was well kill some more brain cells and watch the Family Guy on Cartoon Network.

When I awake, my muscles are sludge, my tongue feels heavy and my mind is full of rusted gears. So I go get some coffee.

Pphhhhht. Stupid neurochemistry.