Broken Coffee

I think my coffee's broken today. The usual morning surge of superhuman alertness is lacking. My eyeballs feel like they're sinking deeper into my skull. WTFuck?!

By my second cup, I'm usually able to punch a hummingbird's taint, hear clocks ticking 10 blocks away, and ace "Through the Fire and Flames" on expert mode on Guitar Hero. OK, I'm lying. I suck at Guitar Hero.

The usual suspects are out. I'm not hungover, depressed, playing the shit out of flash games til 2 in the morning, or sick. At least I think I'm not sick. Everybody at work is sick, and I'm a team player. So it would behoove me to be sick, too, but I'm breathing normally, not coughing, sneezing, or vomiting blood.

Yesterday, I found tickets to Europe for about $800. I also checked the line-up for this year's Bonnaroo. A comic book convention in San Diego looks cool, too. I want to shave my head and wear glasses. A buddy of mine in New York asked me if I had a publisher for the book I have yet to finish and gave me his card.

Here's the deal, dude: My brain is on a plane to Anywhere-But-Here, but my body is still in bed.

I'm restless.

There's no cure for that.

(Fuck, I need to finish that book and dream from there.)