"You bother me... BOY."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

She Can't Frown?

The Return of Coffee

My Daily Depression

I have 4 blocks to my day. These four consist of being surrounded by different individuals and different types of people at different times, and the first two of them are unbearable.

Sr. Math is supposed to be a class that is an S.A.T. prep class. We look at S.A.T. questions and figure out how to do better on the exam.

The teacher tries his best to teach, and does well. I try my best to listen, and I fail. It’s not that I’m a bad listener, that’s not it at all. What it is is the people that share that class with me. There is a specific group of them that do all that they can to make teaching our class impossible. And after all these years of doing that, they’ve gotten pretty good at it. They ask questions like “Can you explain that?” on simple questions so that we can never get to the advanced material that the rest of us need to learn. My reaction to walking into that class:

My other class is full of morons. Not everyone in that class is an idiot, in fact, I would enjoy having class with a lot of them. It’s just that the stupid one’s voices are the only ones that I ever hear.

My other two classes are where I can make my webcomics and enjoy myself: Study Hall and Computer Graphics III. These classes are the reason that I still get up in the morning (*still without coffee) and go to school. “THE GULAG”.

Coffee - With and Without

So, I tend to drink coffee, and I tend to drink roughly half a pot a day. I had a large travel coffee mug that could , in fact, hold half a pot of the magical black drink. But that mug soon broke, like all things that I ever have. I found myself in need of a new coffee mug, and had a somewhat smaller, but still medium-sized travel mug. But that, like all of my possessions that don't get broken, was soon lost. So I was without coffee. And I still am. To help you picture how coffee effects me, I made you a comic!

This is me when I am lucky enough to get coffee, or another form of caffeine:

However, there are several different ways that my body will react to not having caffeine.

The Drone: One of the things that happens to me when I don't receive caffeine is what I have come to call "the drone". When I'm droning, I don't really have any idea what's going on in my conscious mind. For example, I'll know that I have to go from class A to class B, and I'll do it, but when I get there, I don't even remember which way I went to get there. Essentially, I have no idea what is going on.

The Snap: When "the snap" comes around, I feel terrible. The snap is unexpected, and I never really know when it's going to happen. All I know, is one second I am sitting perfectly contently:

And at some point during the next moment, something will happen that results in an undying rage that bursts forth from my soul, engulfing all who bear witness in its burning rage. 

But generally how my body reacts to not having caffeine is that I'm exhausted. Not as in sweating and tired, but I am physically drained and don't possess the energy to operate correctly or think straight.

The drone can almost be enjoyable, as the day goes by without any noticeable flaws. The snap only lasts a coupe of seconds. Being completely empty of any form on energy, however, is possibly the most miserable thing ever. I can't focus, like the drone, but when I'm exhausted, I know that I'm supposed to be focused. I just also know that I can't muster the energy to be productive at all. 

At this point, I'm just hoping and praying for a new travel mug that I can take to school.

Posting to Facebook

So, I recently finished my first well done webcomic.

Trying to get a better outreach, I posted my blog to Facebook.
Here’s what I was expecting people reading my webcomic to be like:

And then that would be it. People would tell their friends about the magical “Armored Tortuga” and then it would spread from there.











NOPE.

Here’s what *actually* happened: 

So I guess I’m just saying that there are those of you who gave good advice, and those of you who I asked for advice from, and if you don’t happen to fall into either of those categories, I meant my webcomic for you to enjoy, not for you to criticize.

So relax and enjoy my ramblings, because that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

Bikes

Everyone else I know rides a bike.

And everyone else that I know loves riding their bike.

But I was that one kid that never actually learned to ride a bike, because I was positive that all bikes were monsters sent directly from the devil on his throne in hell itself, bent upon the sole purpose of making me as miserable as possible.

I guess that this completely “irrational” fear of bikes with killer jaws and an almost rabid desire to devour small children stems from my first experience with falling off my bike. I mean, we all know its going to happen, but nobody really expects it to happen to them. As little kids we all have this idea that we somehow possess some skill that permits us perfect balance on a bike.

And then we try it.

After attempting to ride the monster, and failing miserably, most kids can just get up and try again. Not me, though. When I got my first accident, it was brutal.  

How most kids have their first accident on a bike:

How most kids react to their first fall off of a bike:

How I had my first accident on a bike:

How I reacted to my first fall off of a bike:

After that moment, It became utterly clear to me that all bikes, unicycles, tricycles, and all other pedaled forms of transportation, even the “Flintstone-mobile”, were evil and should be crushed by the overwhelming power of justice. My parents, however, didn’t exactly agree with me on this point. They insisted that I learn how to ride a bike, even if I felt that it was detrimental to my own personal safety. They tried everything to get me to ride a bike.

They tried bribing me, they tried grounding me for short durations. . . when neither of those tactics worked, they tried the one that almost worked. The “Guilt Trip” and the “Feeling of Alienation”.

They bought myself and my two brothers brand new mountain bikes. I guess they were really nice bikes, with different “gears”, and other things that I never ended up figuring out what they were. Mine was a big red one, and looking back on it, it probably wasn’t that big of a bike, but to me, size comparison meant that the bike was gargantuan, but it had slots that changed how high the seat sat on the bike, and how far away the pedals and handlebars were from the bike. I sat on it with the kickstand down, and it felt really comfortable. I believe that I wanted to learn, I really did. But after what happened with that first bike, I didn’t see what this one possessed that would stop me from falling again. I mean, yeah it had cooler brakes, gears, bigger wheels, and was a better bike, but I didn’t get why I should trust this bike any more than I trusted the last one. Because I had trusted the last one, hadn’t I? And I felt that all bikes would try just as hard as that one did to maul me and cause some of the most horrid, unbearable pain that I had ever experienced.
So I decided that I would not ride the bike. I would not learn, and there would be no way that they could make me learn. I’m pretty sure that to this day, that bike sits in my basement, gathering dust and awaiting its time to be able to cause maximum destruction to me.