Dear Lonely Travel Cup,
I know I should still be motivated. I should still have that deep desire, that exponential drive in the morning to wake up, start my day and be productive. But, I just can’t seem to wake up in the morning anymore. I have lost that pep in my step, the swag in my stride, the ambition of waking up right before my alarm goes off to go and plunge into the deep ravine of an unpredicting world. The aspiration of goal setting, of deciding that today is the day I will finally work on the eternal objective of happiness and fulfillment. Please Lonely Travel Cup, how can I find the motivation to once again escape the warm embrace, the utopia of tranquillity and coziness my blankets, pillows, candles and room create for me?
Comfort Under My Comforter
There was once a time when I as well had a purpose in life, the conviction to accomplish my one true meaning, keeping drinks warm. But alas, lately there too is a lack of passion in the expectations for my one true self. My personal milieu of keeping your Guatemala Casi Cielo snug inside my chamber, your Cameroon Mt. Oku blend toasty to true perfection for hours on end has all be abandoned. No, nothing. There is nothingness in this life of sorrow and destain, of unquantifiable wonder of what life is truly and authentically about.
Remembering when I was purchased, a present for the one who fills the holes in your life. My sleek and slender frame wrapped with powerful silver insulation. It was almost perfection imagining where I would soon be off too. Morning train rides into the office before relaxing on the way home with some deeply steeped black tea. Or perhaps a vacation to the Baltic islands of Sweden, where warmth could, but rather, would be needed at a moment’s notice. And then, then it started, and it was ravishing to the fullest extent. For two weeks I was constantly filled, not just with delectable beverages but with the lust for what we like to think of as the “why” of life. It was an all time Shangri-La, an escape to an unsuspecting paradise. But now, now I go unused, alone, cold and forgotten. My advice: stay in bed, remember the good times and next time you have a beautiful memory, make it last as long as possible.
12 Hours: You’re a Psych major. Or unemployed. Or an unemployed Psych major.
10 Hours: It’s not that bad. Ten hours of sleep is probably even recommended and healthy. Still some piece of shit is going to compain that they got less.
8 Hours: The recommended amount. Two-thirds of your day awake and the other third asleep, a perfect balance. It only took you two Ambiens, three shots of Nyquil and a few bowl rips to actually get to sleep.
6 Hours: Alright, you’re waking up tired but it’s so worth it. You’re definitley going to be the piece of shit that complains at your coworker that got ten hours.
4 Hours: As soon as you wake up, you’re planning out when you can take that nap. That nap is gonna be so worth it. I love that nap. I’m in love in with that nap.
2 Hours: Where’s that coffee? I need coffee. Arabica. Dark magic. French roast. GIVE ME COFFEE. NEED COFFEE.
0 Hours: Where’s that cocaine? I need cocaine. Colombian. Snow. Marching dust. GIVE ME COKE. NEED COKE.