Cent's Yuenyeung [ Too Much Tea, Not Enough Coffee ]

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I drink a lot of caffeine.

More than most bugs, it turns out, relative to body weight, I think. I mean, I also drink more caffeine than I need. You can pretty easily measure it out, and you can just feel it, too. I drink more than I need to live and it feels just... compulsive, like, of course that's how it is, that's how it's always been for me. My dad, he drinks tea, he always has-- and tea is the kind of thing where, yeah, you just... sit with it, and enjoy it, and use it to unwind, and mellow out, and you bring tea out onto your porch over New York City or whatever and sit and rest with your husband, which is what he does. But my mom, and me, we always drink espresso. I guess that might not mean a lot to some bugs, because... everyone takes caffeine differently, and some people take it, 'I don't care', like, it could be anything on a given day and they'll be okay with it. Espresso is tightly compacted coffee. It's efficient, and easy, and it wires me up.

And I'll be out there, sitting with my dad and his husband, and they give me tea, and we're all sitting there mellowing out, and I guess... I even can mellow out, a little, because there's nothing stopping me. But I always get mad at myself for relaxing like that. And I didn't realize that, for a long time, and I didn't even really get why it was happening until so recently.

I can't be okay with living unless I'm productive. I need to be making things, not just... getting through it, but producing, too. And when I'm trying and failing at that, and beating myself up over it, at least I'm trying. Then there's this whole other voice that comes in when I don't... care about it, for a little while. If I take my eyes off the prize, then she starts yelling at me, she starts tearing me apart, because I'm not miserable.

She's not... me, I don't think. She's not me. I don't think she can be. She's resentful, and spite-filled, and completely primal, and all she's ever cared about is all this nebulous shit I can't explain. But she also knows me better than I do, she knows every time I've done something and fucked up, and she cares if I don't care. Like, the Cent who wants to take a night not worrying about being productive isn't the Cent I want to be, and... I guess... that's the truth, sort of. I hate when I'm feeling okay about things. The Cent that's on the porch looking over New York City and drinking tea is the worst self I can imagine, because everything in my life revolves around being wired on coffee and making things.

I can't argue with that voice, who sits there and makes me feel shitty about every little action I take. It's not even... really present, speaking back, is the thing. It's just watching for any mistake. It's a sentinel. It's Centinel.

More and more, lately, she's made me think that this email project, I Will Reply, is its own kind of tea-drinking, like it's... easy, and relaxing, and less stressful than anything else in my life. It's my escape from everything else. I have a job, and a friend I'm stumbling to keep up with, and I'm stressed out of my mind all the time, and because I'm not stressed out about I Will Reply, because it just happens, Centinel can't fucking stand it! I don't know why, I never have known why. It's not what she wants to be making. It's not her favorite creation we've ever worked on. But it's something, and it makes me happy. Why does being happy over something small make me miserable because it isn't bigger?

Am I just greedy? Am I misguided to hell? When things relax and my brain turns off, there's a little leg that turns it back on, and it's me, and it's me.

I don't get it.

I don't get what to do with myself.

Does it ever get better?