I Don’t Drink Coffee

May 19, 2017

I like to push myself out of my comfort zone quite often (except when I start losing feeling in my toes). I try new things, see new places, then try those things in new, stupid ways in those new places.

I’m brazen in decision-making, especially when my emotions and personal identity are endangered. I will fight the devil himself for the sake of my dignity.

I’m a pessimist when it comes to blatantly impossible dreams, especially ones about celebrities. What makes them so different from you and I? We’re all human, we’re all unique. You just hear about their feats on TV and radio.

Despite what people think about me, I’m actually inhumanly lazy (like, j’ai la molle lazy) and wildly irresponsible (as I type this at 1:30 in the morning instead of sleeping).

I’m mediocre at personal hygiene and my skin is nowhere near flawless and I wear department store and overstock clothing because I’m what they call a penny pincher.

The only remotely relevant knowledge I have of sports are team names (if they’re even right) and the fact that most of them involve a ball and a masochistic level of endurance, the latter being what I lack any amount of.

And also, what is it about coffee? Of all the coffee I’ve tried in hopes of changing my impression of it, every frappucino was watery, every latte was too foamy, and every macchiato was nauseatingly sweet. If you’re going to ask me on a date, I’d rather you suggest a rom-com at home with chocolate popcorn and blankets that barely cover our feet.

Maybe this makes me an undesirable human being, so negative and uncontrollable, but the question then is: why would I care if someone has a problem with it?

You shouldn’t care either. Be your bust-out-loud cackling, heavy-belching, lazy, dad-joke-humored, forgetful, vocal, ungraceful, clumsy-tripping-over-nothing, imperfect self because, dammit, that is what makes you your beautiful self.


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