So you know how it gets to the end of the semester and you have nine hundred things to do and the only thing you can make yourself do is ANYTHING BUT the stuff that you have to? I'm at that place. I'm in a crazy, anything but work place. Like last night, I created a spreadsheet that counted all the icons I have on my computer (almost 550, but this does not include all the icons I had on my other computer and totally don't have anymore but NEED, because I have a strange compulsion about these things) because they are a total indicator of my level of fandom for any given show. And then today I got home, and my sister and I are going to see New Moon, so why bother starting anything, so I made a CHART of the spreadsheet. ( behind the cut )
I have problems. I cannot concentrate. I am writing Quinn/Rachel peace-making fic. I am going to flunk out and die and my bones will turn to dust in my bed and my sister will have to vacuum me up and bottle me as evidence of a cautionary tale for biting off more than you can chew.

I can't WAIT until this semester is over.

Thanks everyone for your get wells and sympathy. They really help. I'm hoping this week is less eventful.

Last night, I had a dream that I was married to Mark Salling from Glee, but we didn't live together, and he was an alcoholic, and for some reason we only saw each other once a month. He was very tragic and hot, and I was all casual and cruel about it when I told other people. "No, I can't, didn't I tell you Mark Salling and I got married? I have to see him tonight, but he'll probably be drunk." Also, I smoked cigarettes using one of those long skinny holders, and I lived in a very large and glamorous office building. I'm pretty sure he made that once face he makes, where he pouts out his lips, approximately one billion times. I wonder who I'll be married to tonight.

So Wednesday night I was on my way home from my inaugural workout at the Y, after handing them a check that hurt to write, when I was in a car accident. I was taking a left onto a side street where someone else was pulling out. I don't really remember the details of the actual moment of collision, because instead of being belted in like a sane, intelligent person, I had skipped that part before starting the quarter-mile drive home, and when the cars crashed, I slammed my head against the windshield hard enough to leave a spiderweb pattern of cracks. I simultaneously also jammed both knees against the bottom of the steering wheel, clipped my chin on the top, and bit my tongue. Then I got thrown back against the seat, at which point I probably lost my glasses. I don't remember that bit, because I hit my head. It wasn't until about ten minutes later, when the police had arrived and my brother-in-law had come down the three hundred feet or so from the house, that I realized I wasn't even wearing them.

The other driver, a woman who didn't speak much English, wasn't injured, but her front tire was totally mangled and flat; her front driver's side was pretty well battered, but her car was bigger and mine was smashed on the driver's side all the way up to the door, which wouldn't open very well anymore. We were waiting around while the cops called everything in, she and I and my brother-in-law and the woman who had called the cops, who lived at the top of the driveway that we'd crashed at, and I told my brother-in-law that my neck hurt and I wanted to get it checked out later to make sure the part of my brain that's not covered by skull hadn't gotten smooshed. The cop overheard and, in a manner way to surly for me to appreciate at that moment, called EMTs. I told them I didn't want to go in the ambulance, but when they saw the spiderweb crack, they put a collar on me and I spent the next hour and a half or so riding around on a back board and gurneys and unable to move my head because of the collar. They sent me home with a prescription for Vicodin and ibuprofen, but they said I wasn't concussed and my brain wasn't smooshed. I have my suspicions about the concussion, given that I was uncommonly sleep the next few days. Other than the sleepiness, I've been sore as hell: bruises on both knees, a very stiff neck that won't work quite the way it should, and an egg on the top of my head and one under my chin.

I have a bad habit when I'm not going far--the Y is three minutes away, the grocery store about the same, and often when I'm just jetting out for the store, I'll skip buckling up. I generally don't get my seat belt on until after the car is running and I'm on my way, usually by the end of the street, sometimes by the time I get to the light. It's a bad habit from driving on back roads and laziness and not liking to wear seat belts because of how they cut across my chest. It's a very bad habit.

My glasses were somewhere below the driver's seat; my brother-in-law found them. I was very, very lucky that we were both not going very fast and I only broke the windshield with my head and didn't dive through it altogether.

My car was not so lucky. The adjuster took a look at it on Friday morning, the day after my dad and I went down to the garage where it had been towed so I could pick up my keys. I'd left most of the other incidentals in the car--the cables for my Garmin, my extra umbrella, a sweater--because I thought I'd just get them again when the car was fixed. But in addition to the cracked windshield and crushed driver's side quarter, there was suspension damage that out priced the value of the car. So Friday afternoon I went back and got the rest of my junk and my license plates, because the car's been totaled. Stella was a good car, Stella was. She was a 2003, less than 80,000 miles on her, and I paid for her all on my own.

We're getting some money for the value of the car, and my dad is researching used vehicles that will last me as long as I'd planned to drive Stella, but it probably won't be an standard, given what we've seen so far. And even though my dad's right and my car was just metal and bolts and machinery, it was mine, and I picked it out, and I drove it everywhere, and I wasn't ready to give it up when they called me to tell me it was a wreck. And now I have to drive my mom's sedan, which is as long as my car plus half, doesn't have a working CD player, and has the lowest clutch known to man. But it's a way to get around and I'm grateful that I have parents who can help me out by loaning me a car and helping me find a new one and generally being awesome, wanting to come down the day after the accident just to make sure I'm okay.

My dad is also right that it's going to be a pain in the ass for a few weeks, and then everything will settle down and in the long run it won't be a big deal at all. But it's been overwhelming the last couple of days dealing with insurance, my aches and pains, getting all my schoolwork done and shifts covered, and being helpful at home. I've been watching the first season of The West Wing and eating halloween candy and resting, which is a nice break, but I have so much to do, I can't spend another minute dwelling on the whole thing.

I still have to remind myself to put my seat belt on before leaving the driveway. Learning common sense, I guess, but it doesn't quite come naturally to me.

You guys, never has such a short assignment for such a boring class so stymied me. I think it is boring class + ambivalence about research topic = freaking out over the assigned piece being too short.

Anyway. Procrastination on this and other assignments was epic yesterday, including but not limited to a library visit; grocery shopping; a leisurely stroll through Target; voluntarily changing several poopy diapers; making my favorite chili; cleaning the kitchen; picking up my bedroom; and writing about a thousand or so words in a Rachel Berry gleefic. That I revised a little today, and am at a state of indecision about, because it is so not done but as of yet has no discernible plot.

Today, I made a playlist of songs I enjoy singing very loud and played a really stupid yet strangely addictive game online, and then spent the better part of two hours staring at the word document that contained my assignment, willing it to spiral upwards in word count without actually typing anything or having new thoughts. I've never been faced with the problem of being too BRIEF. It is the strangest thing ever. I am going to bed with the hopes that maybe another hundred and fifty words or so come to me in the night. About this assignment, not my fanfic, because I have a feeling that as more episodes are released, more ideas will start to spawn in that department. My brain, it is so contrary. Particularly because as much as this academic assignment is driving me nuts, I want to write lately more than I have in months and months.

Also, I will end up having approximately 5 bajillion blue icons, because "Somebody to Love" knocked me sideways, even if Artie's verse got cut. Did I mention I love Glee? Because I LOVE IT.

I do not have any appropriately gleeful "Glee" icons, so I am using the Taylor Swift, because my love for them comes from the same place. And if you don't love Taylor Swift, then the thirteen year old girl inside you is weeping somewhere in a corner because no one understands her, and there's no need for that when Taylor Swift is out there singing the feelings that are her feelings too, okay? God.

My love for "Glee" has some understanding of irony, however. There's nothing ironic about Taylor Swift. Except for maybe that she exists at all, but the point of Taylor Swift is not to think about existential questions. The point of Taylor Swift is validating feelings and facilitating the expression of unrequited crushes, and also singing really loud. She's like Angela Chase of the new millennium: the inner monologue you had all through adolescence articulated in a perfect pop cult way that makes you feel like, at last, the world understands what it is to be a misunderstood, sensitive young soul. It is cathartic, in a non-classical definition of the word way, and while I may not need it now at nearly-29 (oy), it is retroactively helpful. And also, just fun to sing really loud.

Anyway. The point is that I love Glee, and Finn Hudson is the new Bright Abbott (I STILL LOVE YOU BRIGHT ABBOTT) in that he is the sweetest dim bulb on my TV with a smile that totally makes my brain go gooey. Plus, he looks hot playing the drums and I am allowed to crush on him as he is older in real life and not, therefore, jail bait. Re: the show, I love the 90% completely over the top shit married to the 10% gets you in your gutness of it. But I must know ( this: )

Out of everything at the end of the episode, yes, that was my burning question.

Anyway. I really love this show because it walks the line of nutbars insane and touching, plus people burst into song, which is my dream world. If you could comfortably burst into song and group choreography in the real world without recriminations, judgment, or committal to a mental institution, I believe world peace would be truly possible.

I just can't.





... or can I?




Bacon, my greasy lover. Is there a bacon line?

I have so much on my plate this semester, and yet. I keep fixating on things like what phone to upgrade to, because I'm tired of my little flip thing and I want something I can text from better, which has some sort of internet/twittering/facebook capability, but I have AT&T, and all the non-iPhone options use mediaNet, which sucks ass, and I'm not sure I can afford the extra $30/month that comes with the iPhone. Plus, I get the "you don't need an iPhone" lecture from my sister and practical neighbor when I bring it up, and I know I don't really need one, but is that ever the point? My parents have offered to get me a new phone for Christmas, so this is something I have time to decide, but I have this affliction where I WANT THINGS NOW. And also, the other affliction where I don't have any money.

Other things I am afflicted with: an intense desire to document my very boring life, which is to say a need to let the world know that I exist that outpaces my actual existence; the yen to write while feeling that I have nothing to say; and no desire to finish the stories that I've started. I also carry around this unwritten novel every day that I have nowhere to put because it is too many things altogether that need to be disassembled and put into individual boxes and dealt with one at a time.

I think this is the first world problem of having too many ideas and not enough time to baby them all. I keep thinking of everything I can get done when I'm done with school, but that's another year off, and then there are things like finding a job and working on my life list (which I am slowly building in my head as well) and just the total navel gazing that comes from not being in therapy or writing or airing out my brain often enough and instead shoving all my neuroses into food and sleep and fussing over other people and watching too much TV.

Anyway. I want to get a new phone. I want to get a new phone! What do you have, and why do you love it/hate it/meh it/sleep with it under your pillow?

Also, premieres! So far they have all made me do a little dance.

So at some point I will have to delineate the levels of boyfriendom that exist for me and my rankings of celebrity crushes. For now I will tell you that there are distinctions between such things as TV boyfriends, imaginary boyfriends, lust objects, and sugar daddies. I realize this makes me sound delusional, but the gradations are very clear in my head and basically add up to people/characters I love/admire, and then all the other ones that I will some day put in a book.

My project this semester, by the way, is not to go insane. Between Our Adorable Dictator at home and my rather insane work/school schedule, this is not a small task. My week goes something like this: Monday/Friday/Saturday I have my own classes; Tuesday/Thursday I have a class for which I'm TA, as well as 4 hours of tutoring in the afternoons; Sunday, I work. I have one day a week when I'm not at school or work. That's until I get an internship for one of my classes, and then I think I'll be straight out seven days a week. Plus Our Adorable
Dictator, acupuncture, and six months of back issues of The New Yorker.

Our Adorable Dictator, by the way:



Anyway. Project Stay Sane. It's super awesome. It consists of not getting sick and doing one thing at least once a day for my own well-being, be it mental or physical. Or on special days like yesterday, doing both at the same time (listening to "9 to 5" while on the elliptical). But I digress, because my point was not to talk about my tenuous grip on sanity, but my tenuous grip on reality.

I've mentioned it before, but Joshua Jackson is my Top TV Boyfriend of all time. I did not watch every episode of Fringe last year, for which I feel my membership in his squee club should be revoked, but honestly, I had a rigorous schedule of other shows, plus school, and I thought Anna Torv's last name should have been changed to Torpor. But I loved the finale and I'm going to give it another go, especially if it means breaking up with Grey's Anatomy for good, because that show is now just plain abusive to its viewers. I'll revoke its recording privileges for Fringe and watch Grey's online while I'm falling asleep reading about the women's suffrage movement, or something. But I digress again.

Top TV Boyfriend Joshua Jackson is on the COVER of Entertainment Weekly's Fall TV Preview. For some reason, seeing that made me fall out of my chair with happiness. My sister's been rewatching shows while feeding Our Adorable Dictator for hours on end, and she just got through the first season of Alias. Whenever I sat down to watch with her for a few minutes, I'd remember that year they did Alias on the cover, and they had that photo of Jen Garner and Michael Vartan where he's got her head on her knee and everyone was like BUT HE GOT STUCK BEHIND THE DOOR WITH THE WATER WHAT WILL HAPPEN? And the photo shoot for that was gorgeous, remember? So that was in the back of my mind when I saw the cover for this week, and I'm excited that Fringe is on the cover and not one of the behemoths with a less interesting cast. And also that it's not another Twilight cover, because, REALLY, seriously now. More Joshua Jackson is my point. The world does not yet know how much it should love him, but it will, because he is just that cute and charming.

Plus, I love fall TV season. It's less complicated this year than usual, since I'm watching almost nothing new, plus, everything is on Monday and Thursday, and also, I have no free time at all, so watching is like homework. It started last night with Glee, which I can't talk about yet because I watched it, but Our Adorable Dictator was keeping us busy and my bro-in-law talked through most of it, so I need to review and then talk about how much I love Matthew Morrison and his Lieutenant Joe.

Now that I've read this, I'm debating that Snickers bar in my bag. Do I really need to be MORE spastic than I am right now?

Dr. Ma is my acupuncturist, and she is evil. She sticks me and then, when I wince, says with utter glee, "I torture you." She wants me drinking oolong tea and eating diakon. I hate tea, so this is a chore for me, and eating diakon is like eating radishes, but more so. I did both today, with liberal doses of other ingredients to make them more palatable, but I'm sure that's the sort of thing Dr. Ma would frown upon and I therefore won't tell her.

I also got peed on today, so there's that. I feel bad whenever Thomas pees on himself, because we always do the same thing, "Oh, THOMAS," like somehow he has control over that. And then he cries, and I'm sure it's more because he's wet and cold than because we've been scolding, but I feel bad and then I get inept. Plus, you know, I think about the pee all over the place and that's when I start yelping for someone to help me out.

I went for a long walk, because I went for a long walk yesterday, which made my ass really sore because the neighborhood is all hills, and you can see that it all adds up to trying out wellness for a change and also being a good auntie who overlooks the pee thing.

But for fun I'm watching "Being Human" on BBCA, which I love, because those werewolf vampire BFFs are so adorable I want to fall over. And I say that without the required Twilight irony.

I always feel bad when my celebrity crushes are married or engaged--like, before the ring's on the finger, they are fair game as imaginary boyfriends, but once it's either legalized or heading that way, I always feel as though I'm committing a psychic form of adultery. I am a homewrecker. IN MY MIND.

That said, John Krasinski (and Jim Halpert, also fictionally unavailable)--I will never quit you. Like Joshua Jackson before you (who is STILL FAIR GAME DIANE), you hold a special place in my fickle heart, a position of permanent imaginary/tv boyfrienddom that no other passing crush can diminish. The Ryan Reynolds of the world may come and go with the passing of a summer movie season, but my love for you is like a custodial lock up in a mental ward: FOR LIFE.

So, I'm trying to decide if y'all want to see photos of that concert I went to two weeks ago where I saw Taylor Swift and Keith Urban, or if you want to see photos of my brand new, just born Saturday nephew, Thomas Stephen. Obviously, I know which is your ( priority: )

"Julie and Julia" just made me want to hug my internets friends tight. What would the world be without friends you know but have never met?

So USA and the show runner for In Plain Sight have decided they can't play nice, and now the show's "formula" is changing? (Story here.) I call stupid. The whole reason the show is good is that it's more Mary than her witnesses, and that it's dark, and that it's not like any other procedural. It's the same reason that Bones and The Closer are good: the balance between the procedural part and the personal part is just right and just what the characters require to make the procedural part intriguing. We get invested in witness stories because of Mary's investment, same as anything else.

USA, you fail, if this article means that the show is getting the overhaul it sounds like it will.

Damn, I was just getting into this show very hardcore. I wonder if we'll get to see the second half of the cliffhanger at all?

The thing that's so interesting to me about Top Chef Masters is that the masters are so stymied by the time constraints. These guys are professional bad ass chefs, and they are being bitchslapped by the clock. Now, Iron Chef America is way more demanding in terms of what you have to put out in an hour, but there's something about the way Top Chef is run that leads an entirely different feel. These chefs have all been left looking dumsquizzled at the end of the challenge, and I find it fascinating.

My sister is having fake contractions. I have a feeling that "oof" sound you might be hearing is coming from our kitchen.

In other reality competition news, Project Runway starts SOON, AT LAST, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, and I am more excited about this than is reasonable, given that it will last well into the school year and my brain just might explode from all that I have To Do this semester.

I am all out of liquor, and this is not pleasing to me.

Also, I might actually want to rewatch this last season of The Office, knowing spoilers I've read, which is surprising to me. But not until I watch all those eps of Torchwood and the Lucy-gets-skewered-by-the-schizophrenic-patient arc of ER I just taped this week.

My sister is watching "Judas on a Pole." I love Brennan family saga episodes more than other episodes, except for "Aliens in a Spaceship," which is my favoritest. I still weep for Zack Addy. "Do me a favor and pat Zack on the shoulder with an open hand."

I have been in a fandom haze lately, acquiring new obsessions--Marshall and Mary of "In Plain Sight," for one, Sheldon Cooper for another--blasting through shows that I've never seen in full season viewings and slowly making my way through the seasons of "Torchwood" I have on my DVR, (even though all media outlets in the world spoiled me for the end of "Children of Earth" and now I am frustrated every time I watch it).

I'm rewatching the first two seasons of "Grey's," since the TR Knight cover came out, but that's as far as I can go since I don't have the others on DVD, and it saddens me that the show's devolved. I could go on--and on and on and on, as allthingsholy can testify--about how little responsibility Shonda Rhimes is willing to take in regards to how she runs her show, if Ausiello's article is to be believed. But I give her credit for that first season, which is such a tight arc and sets up some really compelling characters. "Grey's" is one of those shows that I think suffers from a need for self-editing, believing its own press, and loving its own conventions too much.

I love "In Plain Sight." I love Mary Shannon--it is my fantasy that Brenda Leigh Johnson gets a murder case that leads her to one of Mary's witnesses so that we can watch the battle of the world's most stubborn wills commence. I love the partnership between Mary and Marshall, and I love the monkey wrench the show threw in last week with the engagement backlash. Mostly I like a show that lets a character be so many things, driven and mean and self-reflective and cynical and bossy but also kind and compassionate and fierce and forthright. I think Raf is too boring for Mary, but he escapes the ire I have for Fritz by having redemptive qualities, whereas Fritz is milquetoast and passive aggressive and annoying, and I'm sorry, but if this season ends with he and Brenda procreating I will never stop vomiting.

Anyway.

I like "In Plain Sight" a lot, is what I'm saying. Kicks some ass. I also enjoy how Marshall talks all clipped and such, and that he's a nerd.

My love for Sheldon Cooper is purely stupid and goofy: that dude is funny, and I never tire of him knocking on people's doors.

I'm also rewatching "Castle" as ABC replays it, and my love for Nathan Fillion and Rick Castle is undimmed, and I am pathetic enough that I may consider tracking Heat Wave through the libraries until I can read it. Because I am a dork, and I have one month of summer to waste however I want.

Tomorrow I have boring file lists to compile to finish a project I've been working on since last fall, and while I type up the lists I'm going to brainstorm some fic ideas I've been brewing. I don't know where I want to write anymore, with fandom, but I know I want to write something.

A Mary mood theme is coming forthwith, also.

Oh, it just all makes sense now.

I am sitting in my little patch of light here at the library, having done nothing for approximately three hours. Usually when I work on Wednesdays, I work until 1 and then go home and do homework or nothing; today I have a staff meeting at 6:30, so I am loitering at school in between and doing the same amount of nothing somewhere new today. At the moment, doing homework is a serious consideration, but it is just as likely that I will read something not for school and pretend to plan to do homework later.

So I take medication at night to help me sleep, or else I do not sleep. Instead, I roll around trying to get comfortable and imagine terrible things. The medication helps, but the sleep I get is sometimes not entirely restful. This is especially true on nights like last night, when I counterbalance the anti-anxiety meds with wine and chocolate (in the form of delicious leftover baby shower cake) and also rereading the last Harry Potter book, because I like to read before I go to sleep to prevent myself from having any new thoughts.

Now, on the best of nights, the Xanax merely makes my dreams more colorful and vivid. On the nights when I mess with the meds by having some alcohol or caffing up with some chocolate, I have luscious, spectacular dreams that Brian Fuller could turn into beautiful television shows with low ratings. And some nights, those are just endless dreams that leave me exhausted when I wake up, completely knackered before the day's even begun.

For example, last night, I dreamt--yes, spellcheck, dreamt is a word, so shut up--last night I dreamt that I had to go to New York to catch a plane to England, where I would be searching for Horcruxes with one of my best friends from high school. (Aside, the plural of Horcrux should be something like Horcruci.) To get to New York, we got on the green line T in Boston, ran through approximately nine hundred terminals, dragging badly wheeled luggage, went outside around a T station that doesn't exist but was Copley in my dream, and ended up in a fancy hotel, where I had dinner with the cast of the Big Bang Theory and alienated Sheldon by touching the bowl of cough syrup he had stored under his chair, which meant he wouldn't go hunt Horcruxes with us anymore. And then we got on the swankiest plane in the world, after my friend and I talked about how to sneak into business class, because riding coach to London would be horrible. That's about as far as I can remember, and if I strain too hard, I start recalling another dream from last week that involved bicycling around cobblestone streets in Boston trying to get into auditions for Annie but always being directed to another theater on another street.

I think, even though I'm tired, I prefer these dreams to the other anxiety ones I have, like the recurring dream I have where UNH revokes my masters' for not finishing a paper I applied to write or my history professor tells me that my paper was so bad, I should be ashamed of myself. At least the wacky dreams are more interesting. When I can remember those dreams, the ones that are so vivid and quick and full of nonsense, it usually means I didn't get quite enough sleep. This week, I am hanging in only for Friday, which is the first day since last Monday that I haven't had to wake up to an alarm. Or my mother vacuuming. I'm going to sleep until I wake up, and it's going to be awesome.


Sheldon's cough syrup, incidentally, looked like a mixed-berry smoothie, and he was really pissed at me for touching it.

I was going to post about the following subjects before being sidetracked by a driving allthingsholy and her phone: my sore bum (from falling down some stairs), my sister's gestating alien baby of indeterminate gender, the baby shower tomorrow, how my mother is insane about said shower, the diaper cake I made of diapers, writing and not writing (some more), knitting many baby things, and Harry Potter.

But then Allison called and it was like this for two hours: Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Twilight rant, Harry Potter, Richard Schiff, belly button rings, Ryan Reynolds, Celine Dion, how Spring Awakening is 90% about masturbation, and singing.

I'm saying: this is why we need a podcast. If nothing else, Allison's vitriol for Twilight and Stephenie Meyer needs a more public outlet, and the entire world needs to have more love for Richard Schiff.

And now I just need to go to sleep because tomorrow will be all baby squee and y'all, I need sleep for that.

1. My parents my Terry Francona yesterday. I was in class, so my day was obviously not as remarkable.

2. I have an 18-20 page paper due on Friday, which I have yet to really start, but I am not panicking. This means one of two things: I have lost my mind or I have lost my fear of failure. Coin toss on that one.

3. I'm on twitter now, so if some random follows you with the lameass name "dizzyred," it is because I couldn't think of anything better to call myself at the time. I don't like it very much and would like to change it, but my imagination has failed me.

4. My parents are at the rain-delay game right now, so I feel like the universe is balancing out their super awesome yesterday with my having been in class.

5. Seriously this class has been so intense, I can't even begin to tell you, but we had our last meeting yesterday. This is good, because it was an insane amount of work, but also unfortunate, because it was fascinating.

6. allthingsholy got me hooked on "The Big Bang Theory," because I needed something to procrastinate with and I like to blame her for these things.

7. When I am done with this paper, I am rewarding myself with the purchase of the following things: Dr. Horrible on DVD, the new Michael Connelly (after I finish the last new Michael Connelly), and a replacement copy of Center Stage, which I could really use right now. I would have enjoyed a shopping spree at AC Moore, but when my wallet was lost and stolen two weeks ago, I lost all my free AC Moore crafty money in my $40 of gift cards. I'm still much angrier about that than the wallet itself. But clearly the solution is to buy things.

I was mid-post of an "I am annoyed" post/rant and decided that is not productive, that is not helpful. I am refusing to irritate and grump myself back into unwellness or inability to do anything but grump. If I have to spend my day holed up watching German movies, at least I can have a good attitude about it.

Though I might require more coffee with actual caffeine in it. Total Starbucks stop on the way home, I think.