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I recently realized I'm addicted to coffee, and I don't mean I enjoy a cup in the morning to kickstart my day. No, I'm at a point where my blood type is officially "Espresso-positive." I went to the doctor, and he said, "Sir, you've got more caffeine in your system than blood. We can start a coffee shop with what's flowing through your veins." I tried to quit once, and I lasted a whole two hours. I was shaking so much; I looked like I was auditioning for a role in a Michael J. Fox biopic. My friends said, "Come on, just one cup won't hurt." Famous last words. Now, I've got a coffee IV drip, and I bring my own French press to weddings.
I love those people who say, "I don't need coffee to function." Well, congratulations, you're a wizard. The rest of us need a potion brewed from the tears of exhausted baristas just to form a coherent sentence.
And don't even get me started on decaf. That's like offering someone a ticket to Disneyland and then saying, "Sorry, it's closed today. But you can still stand outside and smell the churros.
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You know you're living in the 21st century when you start realizing you're addicted to technology. I mean, I remember the good old days when the only thing I was addicted to was oxygen. Now, it's like, "Hold on, let me finish this level of Candy Crush before I take my next breath." And don't even get me started on social media. I spend so much time on Facebook that I'm pretty sure my phone's starting to think it's a permanent part of my hand. I tried to go without it for a day, and my phone sent me a text saying, "Are you breaking up with me?" No, Siri, I just need some space.
I swear, my phone knows me better than my therapist. It's like, "I see you've been scrolling for 45 minutes. Would you like me to suggest some breathing exercises?" No, thank you, but could you suggest a way to break up with my phone without hurting its feelings?
I'm so addicted that when someone asks me if I want to go for a walk, I automatically assume they mean a virtual walk in Pokemon Go. "Oh, sorry, I can't. I'm in the middle of hatching an egg, and if I stop now, it's going to turn into a scrambled Togepi.
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You ever get so addicted to online shopping that the delivery guy knows you by name, and you start wondering if you should invite him over for Thanksgiving? "Hey, Gary, thanks for delivering my packages. Want some turkey?" I swear, I'm keeping Amazon in business single-handedly. My mailman probably thinks I'm building a fort with all these boxes. He sees me more than my own family. I'm half-expecting him to show up at my birthday party with a package and a card that says, "From your friends at UPS."
And the excitement of getting a package is unparalleled. I could order a single paperclip, and when it arrives, I'd rip it open like it's the Ark of the Covenant. My neighbors must think I'm a secret agent with all these mysterious packages showing up. "Yeah, just got another top-secret mission from the Ministry of Amazon. It's classified.
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You know you're addicted to procrastination when you start making to-do lists just to procrastinate doing the actual tasks. My to-do list looks like a scroll from ancient times, and my completed tasks section is emptier than my promises to go to the gym. I've mastered the art of convincing myself that tomorrow is the perfect day to start. I've been telling myself I'll learn to play the guitar for five years now. At this rate, I'll be the Jimi Hendrix of air guitar.
And technology doesn't help. I'm addicted to watching productivity videos on YouTube, thinking they'll inspire me to be more productive. It's like watching cooking shows and believing it will magically transform me into a chef. Spoiler alert: It doesn't.
I tried setting deadlines for myself, but my procrastination is so advanced that I've already come up with excuses for missing those deadlines. "Oh, the deadline was today? I thought it was in dog years. My bad.
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