Zombies and brownies (Or: I'm trying to quit caffeine)

(I'll tie them together, believe me.)

Sometimes I come up with stupid, rash and unreasonable "epiphanies".  These brilliant horrible ideas take shape mostly when there's no one close enough to bounce them off of, thus no one to talk me down from the very high, very irrational edge.  In these moments, I am invincible and typically convinced that given enough time and money I could find a cure for the common cold.  Now, most of the time one of two things happens: Either I don't have enough oomph to follow through and instead fall asleep as soon as my butt hits a soft surface, or I run across someone to confide in who will then gently and ever-so-patiently guide me onto a different route for the day after which I will forget my original idea entirely and the world (my children, my husband) is safe for another few months.

My family's typical response to, "I have a great idea!"

Take this morning, for example.  This morning, sitting at work with just a bit too much time on my hands, the halls uncharacteristically quiet and my coworker still on break, I decided something needed to change about the way I self-medicate to keep awake.  Since Fall of last year it's been my M.O. to pump myself to the brim with all types of caffeine available at your nearest corner gas station.  Little by little I've noticed my nervous system adapting and growing tolerant of the stimulants I throw haphazardly at it throughout the night, and bit by bit I've been losing my edge during those eight hours on the clock.  A call to the doctor yielded me nothing but a stern "Anti-depressants will wake you up just fine, even if you don't need them for post partum issues any longer." 

The moment I knew my PPA/PPD was definitely gone.

Something you'll learn about me during the time we have together, friends, is that I have a staunch disliking of prescription meds where they are not warranted.  But it wasn't until the night in question that I realized how ridiculous it was to abstain from a medication when caffeine is just as harsh on the system in the quantities at which I've been dabbling.  More like swimming. 

With this thought at the forefront of my consciousness, I made the choice.  As easily as picking which socks to wear for the day or what kind of dressing to put on my salad, I decided I'd quit caffeine in 99% of it's forms (chocolate doesn't count).  I spent the next twenty or thirty minutes googling the health benefits of ditching coffee, and of course the internet is a veritable wellspring of information supporting your stance no matter which stance you decide to take, just as long as you type the search terms in the proper sequence.  Therefore, I was swiftly and heavily armed with all that I needed to bring to my husband once the shift was over.  I was quitting caffeine.  Today.  Cold-turkey.  Rip off the band-aide, don't look back.

Now, I'm making it sound a bit more simple than it really was.  In addition to quitting something, I am substituting other things that I hope believe will encourage a healthy boost in my energy levels instead of that dreadful artificial buzz weighed heavy with whatever concoction the various creamers are formed from.  Instead of awake in a styrofoam cup, I've chosen to try supplementing Vitamin D since previous checks have revealed desperately low levels and also B12 in a lozenge form to make it easier for my body to grab and use.  Not quick fixes.  But over time, combined with brushing up the food choices made in our household, I was certain, am certain, I'll reap the rewards.

But until all of that stuff kicks in...

In time...which are words that hardly comforted me tonight.  I'm going to skip around a bit now.  Come along.

I run, usually from Zombies.  Usually five or six days out of seven.  I love running from Zombies, and my base is getting pretty tough.  Nearly impenetrable.  It's an App I downloaded, a running from Zombies app that allows me to practice for the "big day".  And practice I do...without much fuss...typically.

I'm even preparing my children.

Tonight, I knew I had to.  Several months worth of sweat and tears behind a physiology book culminated in a heavy final exam that I took so seriously, I actually carried the knowledge away from class and didn't simply "brain dump" on the drive home.  All of what I knew of physiological processes inside the body told me that if I wasn't planning to vasodilate with a stimulant to my sympathetic nervous system, I best plan to vasodilate another way, lest I pay the price with a screaming migraine in 5, 4, 3, 2.....

But where the hell were my running shorts?  Now, I knew what was happening.  I knew the growing anger and frustration was merely a byproduct, another manifestation of my withdrawal from such an "innocent" drug.  Endorphins! My brain cried out.  Bring us the endorphins and everybody lives!  But outwardly, I screamed, "Where the F^%$ ARE MY SHORTS??"  Wandering about the house I couldn't help but be distracted by every.  Little.  Out-of-place. Crumb.  I could find.  Why are these tote lids behind the couch?  Well why are they being played with when they are tote lids and not toys?  Why is the baby screaming in the middle of the floor and why must she scream louder every single time I pass by her line of vision and for pete's sake maybe I wouldn't have to keep walking by her if someone would just FIND MY DAMN SHORTS!  The small rational Samantha voice tried tapping raging-I-need-a-stimulant Samantha on the shoulder to remind her that once the run was underway this would all be a distant memory and she, rational-self, would again be in control.  Tried to reason with her, to leave the kids out of it and maybe speak a bit nicer to the husband who was trying so very hard to support her choices.

He supports mine...I support his...no matter how strange or impulsive...

BUT WHERE THE HELL WERE MY F$%#&ING SHORTS??

At one point, my loving and gentle spouse approached me with fear in his eyes, pale and clutching the toddler close, as if I might turn into a literal beast instead of a figurative one and devour her if he didn't protect her with his panicky embrace.  He chose his words carefully.  Spoke slowly.

 "Maybe you should go to McDonalds?  Get a small coffee?  You're uh, experiencing, uh, some rage here, and uh, I think it's....uh...important to address that."

I'm addressing my DAMN SHORTS right now, is what I'm fairly certain I came back with.  It's all a blur now.  The monster had taken over, so I can't tell you exactly what I said or thought as I stomped around the kitchen, living room and bedroom some more.  All I know is, eventually he re-approached me, a pair of black and pink running shorts in his hands, inside-out but I didn't question it.  They were my shorts.  I could now run from the zombies, my day would be complete, the migraine would be kept at bay and I could survive this my very first day of resisting the brown-steamy-rich-tempest known as Brazilian roast. I thought of nothing else as I left the house smiling, shorts on, headphones in hand, practically skipping to the track (What?  It's humid out.  I've got hair to think of.) 

It was a nice-paced few miles worth of a jaunt.  Heavy breathing and a wet t-shirt at the end calmed and soothed my shaky center.  But before I could head home, I had to hit the bathroom.  I looked into the mirror while washing my hands, and in that moment it dawned on me that I hadn't fully grasped how much of a fog I had been in.  I don't know if the exercise truly did for me what my typical stimulant intake does, but looking in that mirror, I found it very easy to believe a pack of zombies would be chasing me...

Giant baby poop stain on my leg.  Remnants of the toddler's dinner smeared on my shoulder.  I'm fairly certain some of the second grader's tears were on the bottom hem from when I snapped at her about those tote lids.  Sweat covered my back.  I must've smelt like a PACK of nasty human beings.

After my run and the vitamins and a healthy dinner, I rewarded myself by baking and indulging in a new treat I found on Pinterest:

Banana brownies.  Don't judge, this ain't no fancy food blog picture, my stove is dirty and my lighting sucks...

 And there you have it.  My first day without a drop of caffeine.  If you're inclined to pray, that energy might be best directed towards my husband and children at any time during the following week.