Excess

I remember, when I was little, downing Pixie Stix like there was no tomorrow. My friend and I were having a Pixie Stix race at a sleepover at her house. As I gulped one last one, I had a sinking realization that I had consumed one Pixie Stix too many. Before it happened, I knew I was going to be sick. I felt foolish and nearsighted, but mostly I felt pukey. I looked at my friend ashamed, and we both ran for the bathroom to try to hide the consequences of our bad choices from her parents.

We like to think that we grow out of those behaviors. Then I went to college. We've all been there; you drink one last sip, down one last shot, finish off the last of your beer... and you know. "Aw crap, I'm about to be way too drunk." You think you might be able to quell the drunkenness, or the vomit, before it comes. "Three, two.... what a nice, cool floor!"

Again, we think, we grow out of such foolish behavior. I just grabbed a coffee before heading to tutor. It was blustery; I thought my mere survival of another snowy Minnesota day should validate a medium mocha. As I walked up to my table full of eager students, I gulped the last of my coffee and tossed away the cup. "Aw, crap. That was too much caffeine! In about an hour, I'm going to be vibrating." You would think I've learned.

It's not just the substances. I am better than blaming Pixie Stix, alcohol, and coffee. Mostly, what I love doing is walking that line. I love being just this side of too much. It's why I'm working two jobs. I don't need to. I just like being almost too busy. Almost too tired. It's almost too much. I feel successful because I am able to ride that line. And then I fall off.

I'm pretty sure I'll be in the retirement home, yelling at the staff: "Don't tell me when I've had too much prune juice! I know how much prune juice I can handl... Aw, crap." Only then, it'll be a pun.