Earlier this year a friend of mine was moving and he had stockpiled a military-level supply of Red Bull. It was for an event that was supposed to happen pre-pandemic and then, of course, was canceled. So, 21 cases of the liquid gold just sat… and sat. Because he knew of my love for It, he offered it to me. Since 21 cases of anything is an obscene amount of anything to store in an intercity apartment, I got creative and made a fort out of it. (Naturally)
However, 6 months later I still have 11 cases of it. Quite frankly, it is the only thing keeping me alive. Like, I’m pretty sure that when I go to get blood work this week for my annual check up the syringe is going to withdraw just a golden liquid instead of the usual red. Don’t worry, I’ve made a self-imposed rule to not drink more than two per day – which I usually stick to. I figure that should be a safe amount, right?
In case you haven’t already gathered from our four years together, I am a Type-A overachiever who typically bites off more than I should. It’s not that it’s just more than I can chew, it typically becomes one of those awkward situations where chewing becomes difficult, and particles come flying out of my metaphorical mouth.
You wouldn’t be wrong to confuse me with one of the zombies from “The Walking Dead” lately. I’m currently living in a state of constant exhausting. Between my regular 9-5 job, being in the final days of training for the New York Marathon (I have a 20-mile run scheduled for Saturday. Pray for me.), and promoting a new book, there just isn’t enough hours in the day. At any moment, I could break out in a Jessie Spano freak out from the episode when she got addicted to caffeine pills while trying to pass a math class and get a record deal.
The other day I skipped my early morning group run and ended up sleeping for 16 hours. I literally slept for almost an entire day. Who does that? Also, who has time to do that? I surely don’t. I woke up in such a panic and feeling guilty because of all of the other things that I have to get done. My apartment’s cleaning fairy is apparently on strike, that bitch. It feels like the walls are closing in on me with clutter from just dropping things when I get home on my way to go do something else. The one thing I have kept up with is keeping the kitchen clean, because well frankly I’m not an animal.
There’s three weeks until things should slow down. The marathon will be over. Halloween will pass, so things should slow down for the book for a bit. I mean, work is work. That never slows down. I would like to say that I have learned my lesson, but chances are I will be here in the future having gotten myself into a similar situation. I tend to underestimate the energy required, and while I don’t want to admit it, I am also getting older. I don’t have the same amount of energy that I had 20 years ago.
My pleas over the last few years for Red Bull to sponsor me have pretty much gone unanswered. So, my next step is to maybe start a GoFundMe to keep me properly caffeinated. Does anyone know how I can contact Sarah McLachlan to provide the soundtrack to my commercial?
Padraic Maroney hails from upstate New York, suffering from middle child syndrome. His writing career began after moving to the Philadelphia suburbs while in high school. He wrote for The Bucks County Courier Times’ Reality section, written by local teenagers, and has the distinction of writing a weekly gossip column for a college newspaper at a school he didn’t even attend! His love of pop culture led him to intern at Teen People, where he met Janis Gaudelli, and realized he could turn being a millennial into a career. Since then he’s alternated between writing and marketing, but always focused on Millennials and everything they bring to the table. Padraic is a lover of shenanigans, 80s music, and the movie “Scream.”
You can follow his additional adventures on Instagram: @padraicjacob