I'M MAKING COKE IN MY GARAGE

...by which I mean a home brewed batch of Coca-Cola imitation, of course.

I noticed a while ago that if I just stayed on my computer or read a book, only moving to go to school or to exercise, I'd get depressed. I'm the type of person who likes a good project, a good activity. I'm the guy who would run into a Boy Scout's meeting and laugh at them for being homophobic, and then come back later and steal their bird house building materials so I could make my own. It's just who I am.

When I'm not creating something manually, I can't help the feeling that I'm not doing anything. Logically, sure, I can tell myself, "You're doing something. You're writing that essay, you're masturbating at a frequency that is both record breaking and disturbing, you're reading that book."

However, it's like there's a part of my mind that refuses to believe that. It's a skeptic. If I'm not able to quantify my accomplishments occasionally, and do it quickly, it rebells.

So I make little projects for myself. Stupid things that don't take long most of the time, occasionally big projects. Last week I bought some coconuts from a market, shaved them and sanded them, and made little tropical glasses so that I could put on a colorful shirt and recline and feel like I was in Hawaii, if instead of a beach, Hawaii had a great view of one of my dogs licking his asshole.

Also, I like run on sentences. It's as close to stream of consciousness writing as I can get without feeling woozy.

In any event, I chose to make coca cola substitute this weekend, because that sounds fun (I have a warped sense of fun) and delicious.

Here's a link, if you're curious. I have the sneaking suspicion that that website is designed for middle aged women looking for things to cook, but I put a mustache and a fake set of testicles on my monitor to make it more manly, and now everything is just dandy.