Share A Coke With David

You're welcome for the free advertising, Coca-Cola. You and your 240 calories per bottle, whatever sorcery that is.

I tried to go somewhere yesterday. You know, get out, do something -- what well people have been telling ill people to do since time immemorial. And at times there's some truth to that: leaving your room is not a magical cure-all, but when you can do it, it can give you a sense of perspective and purpose. The operative words here are when you can do it, though, because when you can't do it, all that get-out-and-live advice does is make things worse.

I tried to go somewhere yesterday, and you can probably figure out the fallout. I was sick, it was hot, it was bright, it was painful. Und so wieter. It was like being crushed in a sphere of sunlight.

I got as far as buying a coke in my zombie-like crushed-by-a-sphere-of-sunlight haze and had to insist that we turn back. My company was confused and disappointed. They took it rather personally, a phenomenon I have little patience for on a good day, let alone a my-body-is-trying-to-kill-me day.

But we turned back. I got to my dim, quiet bedroom, where everything seems that much realer, that much more definite. The guinea pigs munched on their hay in the background. My health bar slowly started to work its way back up.

It was then that I actually looked at my bottle of coke.

My mom used to give me coca-cola as a pick-me-up when I was younger, and the habit stuck enough that I know about the #ShareaCoke campaign. This was the first time that I've ever gotten a bottle with someone's name on it, though.

And that person was David.

I thought about David while I lay there, trying to rest. David. David. Who was David? David would be tall and kind of stocky, with a modest twentysomething beard. David would drink black tea and mead made with a thirteenth-century Icelandic recipe. Not together, although he would if I dared him to. David and Jack would be good friends, although Kim would call him a jerk sometimes. David would like folk and folk metal and a little bit of smooth jazz, too. David would have gray eyes. I don't have a friend with gray eyes. It might as well be David.

I think his favorite fictionl characters would be Drizzt Do'Urden and Jim Halpert. He would be very annoyed about the changes that the Tokyo Ghoul anime made to the story comparative to the manga. He would like bound ruled notebooks because they would give him a sense of peace and purpose in this chaotic world.

I'm pretty sure David would play only Republic characters in The Old Republic. This is where Jack, Kim and I would disagree with David. Republic characters always seem irritatingly spoiled and sanctimonious when compared to Imperial ones. David would disagree, but he wouldn't be a jerk about it.

David would live in an underground bunker accessible by an elevator disguised as a tool shed. His walls would be decorated with cheap well-loved posters from an independent comic book store. There would be no sunlight, just a bunch of little Ikea lamps scattered about the bunker. I don't know. Maybe David would be a vampire.

Anything is possible.

#overstimulation