Posts Tagged ‘coffee shop’

Dear Tourette’s…

Posted: April 28, 2011 in Tourettes
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Okay, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? When Bezuidenthustra sits in coffee shop at 1:30am with hoodie pulled over head and fidgets out of control, Bezuidenthustra looks like sketchy crack addict who should be removed from premises. Remember? So quit it already!

Here’s the funny bit. There’s a guy at about twelve o’clock with tattoos and shaved head who looks like he just broke out of Oz. You know, the skinheads-gonna-fuck-you-in-the-dry-ass Oz we used to see on TV. This guy looks like he’s shanked a few dozen newbies, and he’s giving me nervous glances. Like I’m so beyond whacked out, even he wouldn’t fuck with me.

Actually, come to think of it, Tourette’s, maybe you’re kind of useful after all.

Wait, nope. Let’s not get carried away. (more…)

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Dear ADHD…

Posted: April 6, 2011 in ADHD
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I don’t blame you for being distracted by that big TV. I’m sorry I yelled at you, okay?

It’s not your fault. It’s your very nature to be impulsive, to interrupt my choice to focus on something else. That’s just what you do, ADHD. I know. It’s okay. Don’t pout. Here, have a cookie.

No, I actually blame the owners of this coffee shop for installing the damn thing there in the first place. What the fuck is a 50-inch HD LCD doing blasting one of those news update channels in a supposedly chill coffee shop, anyway? What is this, Tokyo? If I wanted my night to turn into a neon blur, I’d move somewhere fun. Or do drugs. Or both.

(more…)

Dear Tourette’s…

Posted: February 17, 2011 in Tourettes
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Seriously? Seriously? Are you trying to get me kicked out of this coffee shop?

As usual, thanks to you, I can’t sit still. Mix in the Ritalin (yeah, fuck you too, ADHD!) and the coffee and it’s twitch city up in here. The dude next to me thinks I’m a crackhead. He keeps glancing nervously at me over his hardcover. It doesn’t help that I have the sniffles and my face is itchy because of this fledgling beard, either. Shit, if I was looking at myself, I’d peg me for a crackhead as well.

You know what I look like right now? A nervous marionette. I’m Pinocchio on the chopping block. That’s what I am. Fucking Pinocchio, waiting for the ax to fall. And let me tell you, you’re no Jiminy Cricket, fuckface.

What do you want me to do, anyway? I move the belt down, you make me crunch to the left. I shift it up, you squish me to the right. I lean forward in my seat, I’m shaking my shoulders like I’m electrocuting Jabbawockeez. I can’t do anything else! There’s nowhere else to go!

If you’re going to make me do this, could you at the very least make me do something elegant? If I need to twitch, I’d prefer to move about gracefully like a lithe gazelle, instead of this drunken spastic giraffe dance I’m performing now. Although I guess it beats the Perv Swerve

Okay, I’m going to attempt reading this book again. Serenity now… Serenity now…

Yours with strings attached,
Bezuidenthustra