Of Espresso Pebbles, Jeep Wranglers & Wedding Vows.

Today’s been a weird happy day with bouts of craving pickled lemons and wanting to cry your problems into the jar and proceeding to eat lemons pickled with your own tears while pretending to be a halfassed cannibal, then ignoring the impulse because you don’t have pickled lemons anyway and you’re rather consoled by the fact that you liked Louis CK before he made it on the 2012 Times’ 100 influential people’s list, right before you found out that Rihanna was on there too and wished you’d closed the tab without hitting the next button and cursing yourself for your insatiable need for knowledge that has been conveniently triggered because of your impending finals’ force-feeding and cramming that caused this traumatic realization by making you want to click that next button into the wondrous world of things you don’t know yet.

In case you also have the need to count everything and was trying to keep track of how many times I flipped from happy to sad, it’s 4 times in the last paragraph raised to the power of pi in the last 24 hour window, which made me proceed to make an infallible equation to stop that pattern and that is the following: Whatever you do, don’t watch The Rum Diary, and cupcakes are bad for you. The combination is lethal, so don’t go there unless you run out of bytes and food. Maybe not even then, but anyway, you get the point.

I’ve been sleeping a lot too, I think it’s another one of the whole finals-are-in-a-month effect. And when I say a lot I mean the going to bed with a scab and waking up to find that it’s not there anymore kind. I slept so long I grew up a little. Also, my left middle finger decided to cramp at the joint and now I can't bend it. Ironic? I’d say convenient. I’d make it a point to run into everybody I hate today if I didn’t have to wade through a pile of books to get to the door.

Since my body is not used to this whole ‘sleeping enough’ thing, I woke up this morning groggy enough to head-butt the door, bump my laptop into the wall, squish dad’s foot then lose my balance and trip over only to fall right on his poor hand. Luckily enough, he managed to straighten them on time or else I would’ve broken it trying to go through with my quest to reach the couch after heroically getting out of bed in one piece. My dad’s reaction was a full-fledged ‘HOW THE HELL ARE YOU GONNA DRIVE? YOU NEED A GPRS INSTALLED IN YOUR OWN BUTT!’

The Kübler-Ross Model slightly shifted in my behalf when he started considering a Jeep Wrangler to keep me alive, since the logic that ensued included thinking of a car that can take the highest ratio of brick walls to people. Since he could do nothing to improve my own co-ordination, he was hoping a 4x4 would help, but he reconsidered it when he thought about all the people I’d squish as opposed to just run over or hit and his philanthropist senses eventually took over. So now I don’t get a Jeep wrangler, my head hurts, my middle finger is on the offence and my laptop has battle scars.

My mom then went out and got me a weirdass sleeping gown with angry birds all over it because it ‘made her think of me after what happened this morning.’ My dad refuted her logic by saying that angry birds can hit a target, and I hit something and then called it a target. Needless to add, they wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, but that doesn’t mean that you, oblivious reader or alien checking out our planet, shouldn’t.

So I was watching Gilmore Girls this morning and Lorelai was getting married to Max Medina and she started thinking about her wedding vows, which in turn made me think about my wedding vows. After serious thought that went on for an average of 7 minutes, I honestly couldn’t come up with anything other than ‘You’re cooler than Coffee’ because my train of thought kept getting interrupted by internal conflict and a lot of voices berating me for ever telling such a blatant lie. There couldn’t possibly be anyone who’s cooler than coffee. So I moderated it to ‘You’re as cool as Coffee.'

And that was probably the worst thing I could have ever done because, to my head, it was more plausible that love doesn’t exist than the fact that I’d find someone, look him in the eye and firmly believe that he is actually as good as coffee. The fact that I’d conjure up such a thought, of having a person, a human being, be up to par with something as gracious as Coffee. Coffee has been there for me more times than I can count, it has been the emotional support and the pick-me-up, the one making sure I don’t nod off in all-nighters, the one staying up to make sure I see it first thing in the morning before I go to school, sticking around in the cab till I was ready to face reality of a long day with bullies. It was there when I was heartbroken, pissed, sleepless, plain bored and grieving. The one who was there when I was nervous before an important meeting and needed to prop my logic with something other than googling all the topics I could remember being ignorant of. And I’d actually have the nerve to meet a mere human and lie through my teeth, or even worse, believe that he’s as cool as coffee? The fuck was I on.

And that’s when I decided that Gilmore Girls makes me think when it shouldn’t because that’s not what it’s there for and I’d just taken part in a leisure massacre.

Then mom swooshed in and saved the day, having updated my ample stash for a rainy day with chocolate-covered coffee beans and espresso pebbles, and the world was okay again.