High

I can feel the blood running through my veins . . .

My senses are heightened, but dulled at the same time . . .

My hands tremble atop my keyboard . . .

Thoughts, images, ideas - they're running laps in my mind . . .

I speak loudly when I mean to speak normally . . .

I'm sweating as though I've run a marathon . . .

As I raced around the school (there was no leisurely walking), I tried to keep up with the thoughts running through my mind.  I realized I couldn't slow down.  I jotted approximately twelve ideas in my writer's notebook in a matter of minutes.  My leg never stopped bouncing.  My voice was loud.  It was not pretty.

During the day, I felt amazing.  I felt like I was making an impact, making a difference, saying what I wanted to say.  It was clarity, it was sharpness, it was a lot of what I feel like I miss every day.  It made me feel superhuman.  But it was false.  It was false.  It never felt right.

My husband asked me about my day, and the only answer I could give was, "I hope it went how I think it went, because I can't see past the stimulation."

And now?  A few hours removed?  Now I feel tired, run down, but still extremely stimulated.  Like a wind-up toy, stuck against a wall, with no where to go, but still needing to move.

It took me almost two weeks to get it out of my system the first time.  After I started again, the second time took me a little over a week.  The third time, this January, it was out of my system in less than a week.

There's a reason caffeine is classified as a drug.  One measly cup of coffee, and, more than twelve hours later, I'm hoping I can sleep tonight.  While I wish my mind always felt as sharp as it did today, it isn't worth the second guessing, the falseness, the questioning.

I'll just deeply inhale the smell of yours, and smile into my cup of tea.