so my boy at work today walked up and was like “sarah, you like blueberry?” Which, yes, obviously, so then he handed me a blue can of Red Bull, which was a pretty sweet left turn. “I don’t like the blue ones,” he said. “I usually just grab them from the fridge without looking.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Thank you.” I waited til the end of the day to drink it, walking out into the parking lot, all woo hoo, look who’s on her own time sway and swagger, just slamming it. Just an open throat pour, closed eyes, let my feet fall where they may. Because after work, I mean, you gotta work off some steam, right? You gotta sweat it out a little! Time to fucking work out, you know? It’s time to hit the fuckin’ pavement at a dead sprint, bitch—it’s time to shove a little word called MOTIVATION up your ass and set it on fire. GET YOU JUMPING. GET MOVING MOTHER FUCKER.
Anyway. Went home, had an okay workout, felt like shit! Not usual. Usually I feel all seratonin’d up. Real floaty, foot loose, fancy-free. This felt like dark memories of methy comedowns, fevered shivers… night terrors—the Full Vietnam.
So there was like, 35 grams of sugar in that can, right? And I don’t typically drink my sugars. I’m team Diet Shasta. Coke Zero. Just not sugar-drink habitual, unless you count rum, which you should, but don’t. And this was it, I knew it: the Crash…
So. Following this workout I had a pleasant dinner with friends, at which I was absurdly wired, wired to the point of methy. That’s two uses of the word “methy” tonight, describing me, and things I do. What can I say? I dunno. So sue me! It’s on my mind! And in my body. I’m so full of meth right now. My lungs, my veins, the chewed up pieces in my teeth—that’s the only explanation. That’s the only thing that must’ve happened. Otherwise you’re telling me that my bodily defenses and metabolism are chickenshit enough at this point to get their fucking asses kicked willy-nilly all to shit by no more than the meager force of a single can of blue fruity non-diet regular-ass Red Bull.
I used to fucking shoot rocket fuel
youtube rabbit hole: bar fights