Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be all right
Perhaps it's just imagination
And day after day it reappears
And night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away

Men at Work, Overkill (1983)

Yesterday afternoon into evening, I felt TEAR-RUBBLE. Again, I was very green with those ol' butterflies clanging around inside. Then there was the backdrop of me stopping coffee on a dime and the neighbor's late yardwork for me to breathe in bed. Just one of those makes me miserable.

I don't know what's going on. I do know that though Sunday started out as a fat focus day; my going without coffee, too, was more than I wanted to overcome. Thus by lunch, I did my typical 3 burgers and 4 eggs.

Previously, I ran full carnivore from November 23, 2020 to August 22, 2022, so I have all the confidence in the world I am doing the right thing so I don't have to rely on Kelly Hogan's 15-year success. Even this soon to be ¾ year span lets me know I am headed down the work of being alive.

I don't know if I can really fault coffee. Yes, drink too much and—look, anything too much is awful, right?

No, this is something different. I'd have to think it's due to that zombie bite back in February. Everything else went haywire after it; I never fully dropped its effects. Is it difficult to believe that this is a new verse to the same old song?

Plants Do This to Blood Cells explains my position pretty well as to why I just smile and shake my head when folks give a robotic reaction of reading from the script, "Talk with your doctor."

That phrase has always miffed me. C'mon, man! Who am I, Daddy Warbucks? Who else next should I talk to? My gardener? My mechanic? My maid? My air traffic controller? Exactly how BIG is this staff of mine?

"I need to have a talk with my barista down in the foyer. And if that cook ain't Alton Brown, he's outta here—wait, he's Guy Fieti? Fine, that will be the Flavortown wing. Just really wanted the sharp wit from Alton. When does the Hot Ones guy start?"

Then again, if all of this is true..."I'm Batman."

No, I suspect a bit of puffed-up chest syndrome leads to this sort of thinking.

Of course, we can go to the doctor. But do we ask if we should go? I know he prescribes, can I unsubscribe? If he's just addressing symptoms and doesn't extend survivability, then I could save a few bucks and buy a six-pack a day. I don't get the sense that doctors can promise a longer life. And I gotta believe that a tour through the beers of the world would be a FAR more enjoyable medical experience.

No, the weird thing about how I feel lately is that I have had the desire to just suck and crunch down on ice in these late afternoons. Then again, I suspect that's about half of the city in this Memphis summer.