Caffine+ Fear = Ambition.

I have been heard saying that caffeine guarantees 80% more work shall be completed.  Unfortunately, it is difficult, nay, impossible to choose what work shall be completed.  It's like startling a cat.  You don't know where the cat is going to go, but it's going to get there, and it's getting there NOW.  Possibly with some damage to your living quarters (not unlike a caffeinated Cactus).  I'll do laundry, bake, organize receipts, venture out of doors; you never know where you'll find me if I'm left to my own devices on caffeine.  But during my career as an English major, a directed beam of productivity was required.  Frequently.  The tiny people who run my brain set themselves to work and delved into dark magics.  From their studies, they found a single mechanism capable of targeting a caffeinated productivity explosion.  And that mechanism was Fear.

Fear alone is worthless for completing anything.  Somewhere along the line, my biochemistry dropped the "fight or flight ball", and clung to "freeze" as though its life depended upon it.  So when a heap of work is thrown at my feet (see: midterms), my body shoots a burst of adrenaline through me just like any red-blooded college kid's immune system should.  But instead of tackling the work head on or drinking myself into a stupor (the favored responses of my peers) my default response was this:              .

Nothing.

Not writing papers.

Not reading.

Not buying groceries.

Not showering.

(Sorry)

No activity that wasn't strictly necessary for biological survival was performed.  This did mean that when my living quarters reached hoarder levels of uncleanliness that I did eventually get up and grab a broom.  And when the larder was depleted, I had to run out and buy ramen and Alien food.  But aside from these tasks, I would literally shut down.  Thinking about the pile of work triggered panic attacks, so I did my best to avoid the subject entirely.  Which only fed the beast.

 The workload became a living breathing thing.  It followed me everywhere.  It sucked the fun out of my hobbies, like a happiness leech.  It judged my lack of motivation.  And whenever I confronted it, it would howl at me, like a deranged wolverine, until I ran to the couch in tears and consumed a full pint of ice cream.

I could fail, I told myself.  It's not hard.  I've done it before.  I could fail and waste all of my parent's time and money.  And that fear kept me on the couch until Alien came home.  He would remind me that the work-beast was just a pinata wearing a scary mask.  If I beat it into small enough pieces, I could burn them individually until the Mexican god of paper mache donkeys showered me with sweets.  I may or may not have played with pinatas correctly as a child.

Finally, once I had segregated the workload into teeny bits, I was able to kick the beast once a day until it coughed out a B at the end of the semester.  And then I would breathe a sigh of relief, fall asleep, wake up halfway through the next semester, and repeat the cycle.

But Fear and Caffeine... TOGETHER...

Scratch that, it has to be Caffeine, then Fear.  Fear amplified by caffeine is something no living being should have to witness.  But Caffeine, tempered by Fear, created a lazer of work-ethic, capable of churning out six pages of work a day.  Altered levels of Caffeine and Fear were never able to adjust the ultimate number six.  That is simply the amount of coherent English sentences I am capable of churning out in twenty-four hours.

And now, something strange has happened.

I have lost access to Fear.

Alien supports both of us on his income.  I am blissfully unemployed, allowed to spend my time as I wish.  I can crochet, game, sew, do housework, in whatever order I wish, for whatever duration I fancy.  Caffeine is still more than capable of ensuring 80% work completed.  But without the focus of Fear, I am left goalless.

So until I have a daunting project to avoid, or a T-Rex standing behind me, all beady eyes, granny glasses, and a short threatening ruler, nattering at me to write another blog post, I'm not certain how to ensure continued updates here.

Maybe I'll finally learn how to set goals.

Maybe I'll learn how to write without a muse, like a good author.

And maybe, sadly, this chapter of my book will close.








And maybe I'll go shopping for a T-Rex in granny glasses.