Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson
March 31, 2003 - Caffeine Au Go-Go

The problem with massive amounts of caffeine is that it dries you out from the inside. You begin to feel like a deprived cactus.

You lick your lips so much you look like a bad Cher impersonator.

And of course, it doesn't matter how much you drink, because it's like trying to rehydrate a raisin.

So, you might ask, what led me to abuse caffeine in this way? Blame it on Bush.

Since my job involves working on transcripts for some of the major cable news channels, as you'd imagine, there's a lot of work right now, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. The good thing is that I can make as much money as I want to. The bad thing is the office is overextended and I feel obligated to help out.

So combining my Type A personality with my overdeveloped sense of personal responsibility, I have been working 11 hour days. And that's just what I do for pay. That doesn't include my personal work. I guess there are worse things than incredibly long work hours, like being covered with paper cuts and taking a bath in lemon juice.

With these long days, I've resorted to the same trick I used as a pizza delivery driver, which is mind-numbingly insane amounts of caffeine. I really wanted to go to bed last night but couldn't get to sleep until 5 a.m., then getting up early again today. I feel like it's finals week in college. Except at least then there were keg parties.

Then there's the other side effect: skin oversensitivity. My arms are crawling with itches. And then of course, what happens when you're feeling like this, but you get stuck in a traffic jam, which is where I am right now, dictating my woes into my mini tape recorder.

A guy in a silver Ram Charger next to me is snacking on a pretzel. My dog is lying down on the seat trying to decide whether to nap. "Sunday Bloody Sunday" is on the radio, and we crawl along.

It might not be a great time to nap, but it is a good time to shed, apparently, because when I pet my dog's head, her golden hairs fly off in the sunlight. She reserves her best shedding for inside my vehicle; she knows how much I love reminders of her presence.

And then on the side of the road, a small child's boot, apparently unworn. How do things like these end up on the side of the world? Some vicious child throwing another child's shoe out the window? Did it fall off a truck? Or is this, in fact, what happens to all missing items, once they disappear?

I was beginning to wonder if perhaps there was nothing up ahead causing the jam and if everyone had simply slowed to a crawl because one person had dodged a skunk. But it turns out there's roadwork up ahead. That's all right, because now they're playing "Sweet Home Alabama," and it's a lazy kind of song for a lazy kind of mood. Even if your skin is itching.

And then the construction ends, and the Doors come on, and we break on through to the other side. Which is about the only time massive amounts of caffeine feels good.

Moral:
Never "pull an all-nighter" after age 30.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

Musings Index

What do you think? Share your thoughts
at Alyce's message board (left button):

          Alyce Wilson's writings