I can’t think of a more boring quality to attribute to myself other than “coffee-drinker” and yet that’s somehow become one of my main identifiers. I don’t even drink that much coffee. I only have about 4-7 cups a day minimum and that’s only so I can fully charge my Anxiety Meter which works a lot like the Limit Break bar in FF7 except instead of it resulting in a powerful limit break attack when the bar is full it results in a powerful anxiety attack that makes you hide in the bathroom until your hands stop shaking and you can hear out of both ears again. I can already hear you asking why I drink coffee if that’s the result and the answer is that I also get anxiety if I’m in a social situation where I don’t have something to do with my hands or something to hide my face, and coffee easily fills both of those roles. So I use it to prevent anxiety and then end up causing more anxiety. It’s a whole thing. And I know what you’re saying, “Ryan just get water” and that’s fine and everything but then I won’t have the energy to stay up until 7am watching “The War At Home- All Kenny Scenes” on repeat while soaking in the nostalgia of the gay twink version of Rami Malek. I’ll suffer through anxiety for the scene where he goes on his first gay date and screams “I DONT WANNA HAVE SEX WITH YOU! I’M BAD AT BEING GAY, OKAY?!” all day every day, thank you very much.
I’ve thought about quitting before, but the migraine is always so painful. You know that scene in X-Men when Professor X puts Cerebro on to try and find someone but then it was secretly poisoned by Mystique the whole time and so his head almost explodes? The coffee migraine is kind of like that, but worse because some of us don’t have telekinesis, Charles. And also because Professor X probably got to have coffee before he put cerebro on and almost died.
When I moved to the city I lost contact with all of my Long Island friends. And I do mean all of them. A long-lasting depressive episode held me in place, not allowing me to reach out. Telling me, whether true or not, that they hated me now. Five years after moving to the city I had to gather the strength to reach out to them. My depressive episode that drove me to isolate myself from everyone that cared about me finally wrapped up in a way like when you’ve finally recovered from crying and realize just how hungry you were the whole time. Your sadness no longer blanketing it, no longer a tourniquet for the pain.
I reached out, finally, to the person I knew I could count on first. Over coffee and food, for the first time in 4 years, I reconnected with Yeliz. It was a story I’d written in her yearbook that I thought would be fiction. The story of us 4 years in the future having had no contact but coming back together like we hadn’t spent a day apart. And that’s exactly how it went. Yeliz was also the start of me reconnecting with the rest of my friends from Long Island. Dragging myself out of the depressed pit that I’d slipped into while moving to Manhattan. My chosen family. And that’s the happy ending.
If you're anything like me you literally didn't realize a week had passed and so that's why you're writing this post at 6PM instead of at 10AM like normal. Oops. But here we go!
You’re an entry-level god given the tedious task of creating new life after the human race killed themselves off for the tenth time. You’re annoyed that this keeps happening, and this time you want to try something new. Is your supervisor looking?
You’re in a room working diligently on something. Out of the corner of your eye you see a snake slither out of one of the outlets in the wall.
You, the treasure, sigh. Another adventurer approaches, ready to open the chest and loot its insides. Just one more person that can’t identify a mimic upon first sight. You ready yourself for your attack and think back to how this all went wrong.
You are but a lonely frog trying to cross a dangerous road to get to the other side. You narrowly avoid a car, make it onto a floating log, and are making good time. Suddenly a barrel comes hurtling towards you.
He’s tinkering with the watch you brought in, but it won’t stop moving backwards. No matter how hard he tries. You’re fearful, as you know what this means.
You sit on the balcony of your apartment in the city, looking off into the calm sunrise surrounded by rooftops. Out of the corner of your eye you see movement on the roof a few buildings over. You recognize this as the building your recent date lives in. You note that the figures on top are wearing ceremonial clothing as they form a circle and drop someone from the building onto the street below.
The customer isn’t happy. The tonic she bought from you had the exact opposite effect that she wanted, and now her life is upside down. What are you going to do to make it up to her, she wants to know. And, no, a coupon won’t do.
Anyway, like some kind of messed up 80s coming of age story, those Mario Tennis skills translated to real life badminton skills (not even the same sport, but whatever brain) and I was returning shots back to the other team like my life depended on it. We still lost every single game and placed lowest in the class-wide tournament, but that’s not important. I mean, it was important for our gym grade, but not for this story.
My hunger for competition only grew through my senior year, even though I was barely there. I missed so many history classes that I almost wasn’t allowed to graduate. Except then we split into teams in our history class to hold an election and due to the perfect storm of one of the other groups arguing for the legalization of lightsabers during military action, some Russian bots (just assuming), and the popular girls accidentally voting for me because they didn’t realize they could vote for their own candidate, I ended up winning the election by a landslide. And I’m kind of convinced that that’s the only reason I didn’t end up flunking that class. I mean, you can’t fail the president. That’s in the constitution, I’m pretty sure. (Or maybe not, I don’t know, I didn’t really show up to any history classes.)
After the election, Yeliz, Gulsah, and I decided to go out and celebrate at an all you can eat sushi place, which sounds disgusting but hear us out. It’s not like buffet-style where it’s sitting out for potentially decades at a time. Instead they hand out these menus where you check off everything you want and pay a flat fee per person and on the bottom of the menu is a vaguely threatening message that says “DO NOT ORDER WHAT YOU WILL NOT EAT.” Which was just sensible and loud enough for us to be scared into only ordering what we knew we liked, which meant lots of generic but delicious rolls. So delicious and generic that it took us halfway through our platter to realize that we’d accidentally been given and were eating someone else’s food. Since we were already halfway through and stuffed completely full, we decided to just shovel the rest into our mouths no matter how painful it was, pay, and never speak of this ever again out of bloated embarrassment. We finished, gave ourselves a congratulatory but exhausted cheer and planned to head out. Unfortunately the sushi place also realized that we’d been given the wrong platter and then promptly placed ours down where our empty platter once was, and the words “DO NOT ORDER WHAT YOU WILL NOT EAT” echoed in the air as if Mufasa himself was speaking to us. Which, we were so full that all of us felt half dead, so communion with the spirit world really wasn’t too far fetched.
I wasn’t hungry, but we were also out with Gulsah’s sister and her sister’s boyfriend (who looked suspiciously like Joe Jonas but just enough where you could never really be sure and it felt too awkward to ask) and when the second platter came out he just started digging in. And then because the Ancient Greek goddess Monica Geller is at the very core of my being, I took that as a challenge and decided I was going to finish it off on my own. I had what I can only describe as a competitive blackout because I couldn’t tell you what happened beyond that except that ten minutes later the second platter was gone, my friends all looked disgusted with me, and I was asking who wanted to go get ice cream.
In elementary school I was best friends with a boy named James who was like my more normal, less anxiety-ridden half. We did everything together, hung out constantly, and I was totally in love with him but had no idea because being gay hadn’t been invented yet. We had a lot in common in terms of movies we liked, games we played, and our mutual curiosity/fear of the great demon Beetlejuice who we would try to summon with all of the lights off in James’s basement whenever we were bored and wanted to truly feel alive. It never worked but I think it’s because this was before cell phones were super popular and honestly maintaining a landline when you’re also working full time as a servant of the dark lord Beelzebub is probably pretty taxing.
One thing we were both mutually obsessed with was the game Golden Sun. Golden Sun was like if Final Fantasy was better and Pokemon was worse and then they came together like a Power Rangers Megazord and formed a perfect game that could finally kick Goldar’s ass. While James was better than me at every sport ever imaginable, I had him beat in the not-yet-invented-by-nerds category known as esports. Because of that he entrusted me with his copy of the game under the condition that I help him get past one boss. I agreed, took the game home with me, beat that boss, and then promptly lost his copy of the game into the deep cavern that was my room, because I’ve always been a very responsible person.
I had to think quick after I lost the game, which is really bad because that’s definitely not my strong suit. My strong suit is more in just hiding until all of my problems go away, which wouldn’t have worked in this case because James and I had played a lot of manhunt together so he knew all of my prime hiding spots. The only solution I could think of at that point was to give him my copy of the game, pretend I got him further than I originally intended, and then never speak about it again. And before you ask, no I didn’t consider telling him the truth because that would be stupid.
It took me until about a week after I gave him my copy of the game to remember that you could name all of the characters in the game, which presented a bit of a problem considering his were named after people he knew and mine were interchangeably named after Buffy characters and my favorite beanie babies. But he never brought it up so I’m just assuming he either never noticed or was too nice to call me out on it.
James and I lost touch in middle school and, although we shared a few classes here and there, we never really built our friendship back up. He became one of the jocks that people drooled over, I became one of the theatre kids that people avoided eye contact with, and Isaac from Golden Sun became a Smash Bros assist trophy instead of the fighter he rightly deserves to be because Nintendo abandoned the Golden Sun franchise and refuses to acknowledge their giant mistake. Get it together, Nintendo.
First, the link to my Patreon, where you can subscribe and contribute to the creative process in various ways (including gaining access to previews of future content, getting a thank you on this blog, as well as the ability to suggest future posts!)
Then from Totally Logical Fear this week we got episodes 18 and 19 from "Before Color!"
Next up we have Trish's new recipe for a Tofu Scramble on the satirical dark cooking blog, "Trish's Dishes."
And then last but not least we have all seven of my unusual writing prompts from this week. If you use any, let me know in the comments for that post and include a link to your stuff!
"You’re a character in a 1950s sitcom. The black and white antics taking place amongst you and yours are equal parts funny and heartwarming. Suddenly you notice Them watching you, and you’re struck with fear. You know Them, and you know what They’re capable of."
"You are a zombie working a dead-end job in an office. Things have been boring ever since you and yours ate the last human. You decide you need some excitement in your unlife. "
"You’re in the audience at an orchestra. In the middle of the piece the lights go out fully and the orchestra stops playing. Silence. The lights come on and everyone is gone. The audience and orchestra, vanished. All that remains is you and a viola player. And a cackle."
"You’re lying on a blanket with someone important to you in a clearing in the woods. The two of you are staring up at the starry sky talking about the future. One by one the stars begin to go out, until none are left. "
"You’re a bee-person from the year 6015. You’re in bee-person school learning about artifacts and mythology found in stories from the long lost years, 1920-2020. Known as “the century that information forgot.” Who are these ancient people’s gods? What are their tools? How did they survive as long as they did without a stinger on their butt to fend off predators?"
"You’re staring out the window of your apartment, head in a daze from any number of things (sickness, hangover, too much coffee, too little sleep, etc.) Between the skyscrapers you see something move. You squint, but don’t need to, as it raises up. It is the face of an Old God."
"You enter a theatre ready to watch a show. A man sits on stage, covered in muscle and tattoos. He closes his eyes and the tattoos begin to lift from his skin and onto the screen."
Speaking of stupid, if you haven’t been on Neopets in a while just know that it still exists and is mostly the same, it’s just that now your dragon-squirrels can wear crop tops and jorts. Back in the day, though, my main goal in the realistic capitalism simulation known as Neopets was buying 10,000 books for my magic red goat to read. I was so heavily invested in that goal that when I came upon a shop that said I could get a million neopoints by following a few easy steps, I took my chances. It was kind of surreal getting scammed for the first time, but to be fair it did totally prepare me for the thousands of pyramid schemes I’d be invited to join by my high school classmates later on in life. The weirdest part though was when third grade me made a new account and messaged them telling them to give me my account back. They responded saying they were me and that they didn’t take anything, and that was the first time I questioned whether I ever actually truly existed. Out of fear of unraveling the simulation we all live in and discovering the matrix, I didn’t go back on Neopets after that point and to be honest didn’t miss much about it. Except for the forums (and Cheat. That game rocked and Brucey B can suck it.) Being without the Neopets forums for all my role play and social needs meant I had to resort to the next best step: chat rooms.
Chat rooms used to be the place to go if you were a horny nerd with no friends. So it was a natural fit for me right off the bat. In middle school while I was still somehow convinced that I was straight, I stumbled across one chat room that let you go in as an avatar and walk around. It was like Habbo Hotel but worse and hornier. In there I found a pixelated guy that was super sad (which I could tell because he kept typing “::cries sadly::”) so I went up to him and asked what was wrong. He said he was sad because he was gay and no one would hug him and I was like damn… not being hugged definitely is one of the top 3 problems plaguing the gay community right now. Let’s get political and give him a hug. And that, embarrassingly enough, was the moment that I realized that I was gay. Not when I convinced my best friend to take his shirt off so I could drool over him. Not when I had wet dreams about the skater guy in my class. Not when I found myself watching an extensive amount of gay porn. It was when I typed “::hugs u::” to a sad cluster of gay pixels in a chat room.
His name was Leoni, he was Canadian, and we ended up dating on and off for about 3 years before he pretended his entire family was being terrorized by a demon queen named Kim (her full demonic name was Rymekilb and she was the keeper of the seventh layer of hell) shortly before admitting that he was actually a confused girl catfishing me the whole time. You’d think I would’ve been more devastated about being catfished, but I was really more just annoyed that the whole demon storyline didn’t pan out, because I was watching a lot of Charmed at the time and was so amped to realize my full middle school witch potential and start dating my inevitably hot whitelighter. But you know what they say, don’t hate the sad cluster of fake gay pixels, hate the habbo hotel ripoff chat room that brought you together to begin with. I’m pretty sure that’s the phrase, but I’m always open to constructive feedback.
I have this weird thing about me where whenever I’m not currently having an anxiety attack from being around other humans, I need to be the absolute center of attention. There’s no inbetween. Will I sprint out of the kitchen and into my room at Usain speeds when I hear my roommate coming through the front door? Yes. But do I also want the spotlight on me constantly and get annoyed when it’s on other people? Yes! And so nothing broke my gentle, ego-centric heart more than when I first got into theatre and wasn’t immediately the lead in every single musical that I auditioned for. It was, like, sure I couldn’t sing or dance, but it was 7th grade and we were on Long Island, so nobody else could either and if they could they were already in 13: The Musical.
I did end up getting leads towards the end of my high school theatre career, mostly because in my freshman year I’d proven my worth by landing the written-in part of “title-card changer” during a series of one-acts which I used to come out on stage dancing to Dontcha by the Pussycat Dolls because I didn’t want to have a social life, apparently. When it came to community theatre though, I was pretty much a designated ensemble member. Which I was okay with, considering my singing and dancing are about at the level where you’re pretty sure any audition I do is some elaborate What Would You Do episode where they’re testing to see if you can contain your laughter while simultaneously crushing someone’s dreams. It’s part of why I ended up veering away from the path of actor and into the role of writer.
When I was younger my future career plans changed every week. First I wanted to be a writer, then a firefighter, then the sole wielder of the keyblade, then briefly a newspaper delivery boy when I accidentally misunderstood what an “editor in chief” was during a career simulation fair in middle school, then an actor, and then back to being a writer when I realized I wasn’t all that great of an actor. And while it was disappointing to give up the dream of acting in order to pursue writing, it didn’t feel like a huge loss. Because it was still an art that I loved, and one that I felt infinitely more confident operating within.
First and foremost we've got the link to my new Patreon, where you can subscribe and contribute to the creative process in various ways (including gaining access to previews of future content, getting a thank you on this blog, as well as the ability to suggest future posts!)
I also wrote my first Medium post this week, which was a spontaneous poem I started writing that felt too heavy and out of context here, but too relevant to where I am now to not immediately hit post. Very little editing on this one.
And now onto the week's posts from this blog! From "The Totally Logical Fear Of Your Body Falling Apart: Before Color" we have episode 16: "Meet Cute" and episode 17: "Winner."
This week we also introduced a new concept on this blog: TRISH'S DISHES, a parody cooking blog wherein recipe blogger Trish routinely cooks meals for her husband, her dog, and the ageless demon that's possessed her only son, Saarthrul the Eviscerator.
Then lastly we have our unusual writing prompts for the week. Don't forget to post what you wrote in the comments, or post a link to your own page!
"You’re locked in a room. It’s dark and the only thing you can see is a small hole in the corner of the wall, with light streaming through."
"You’re a telemarketer making cold calls on an average work day. Except one of the calls you make today is a familiar number: Your sister’s. She’s been dead for 2 years. You still call. She answers."
"A classic 1950s sitcom plays on tv. The black and white antics that take place are equal parts funny and heartwarming. Suddenly they notice you watching them and are struck with fear. They know you, and know what you’re capable of."
"One moment you’re performing a play about a witch trial onstage. You’re on the stand defending yourself when you forget your next line. You close your eyes to try and recall it but come up blank. When you open your eyes the audience is gone. You’re in a courtroom. You’re actually on trial."
"You wake up to discover you’ve grown a third arm. The next day, a fourth. The day after, a fifth. You’re starting to run out of room for more arms. The doctor you see is equal parts unfazed and unhelpful."
"You’re listening to soft piano coming from a balcony nearby as the rumble comes once more. This time, however, the earth cracks right beneath your feet"
"It’s been ten days since time stopped. Since the world froze. You’re starting to wonder if things will ever go back, or if you’ll spend the rest of your life on the divide between past and present."
Ryan C. Robert is the writer of multiple comedy blogs, most of which are satirical and self-deprecating. He writes about his life in his personal essay series "Before Color," parodies cooking blogs in "Trish's Dishes" and posts writing prompts every single day.