I did it. After all the preaching and warning, I broke down and did it. I drank a Red Bull today. Don't laugh; I have warned my children about the dangers of poisoning their bodies with anything like an energy drink, alcohol, drugs (even the OTC variety). I'm just not a fan of putting mood altering substances or vasoconstrictors into our bodies.
I was desperate. We're just coming off the Thanksgiving holiday, so I was feeling sluggish. My house is a mess, with half of the Christmas decorations up and the other half all over the place. Such disarray makes me nervous. I can't sit and write with all that chaos piled around me. But as I mentioned, I felt sluggish. An hour and a half at the gym didn't help that this morning; it just made me feel like an overstuffed cow trying to exercise - sluggishly.
I am so ashamed. I stopped in at a Quiktrip between my house and the gym, and I bought the damned thing. I drank it on the way home, gearing myself up for the cleaning task that was ahead of me. I figured that drinking it in the car should time the effects out just about right. I should be revved up and ready to go as soon as I walked into the house. That's what the commercials depict: happy, energetic people accomplishing many things with big smiles on their faces.
Two sips into the drink, my heart started to race. I could feel my face getting flushed, and I felt a cold sweat coming on. My first thought was, "Does 'Red Bull' translate into 'Menopause in a Can' in some other language?" Sure felt that way. Parking my car in the driveway, I was out of the car and tapping my foot impatiently waiting for the garage door to open. It seemed to take a half hour. As soon as it was up high enough for me to duck under it, I raced inside, threw my gym bag and purse on the kitchen floor and frantically looked around for cleaning supplies. My palms were sweaty. My armpits were sweaty. My hands shook. My thoughts raced.
Long story short, I cleaned every ceiling fan in the entire house – while they were on. No problem. I mopped the kitchen floor, finished decorating the Christmas tree, bathed both dogs, polished the silver and ironed my husband's underwear. All that took about 10 minutes. Monday is laundry day around here, so I threw a load in the washer and stood in the doorway of the laundry room, tapping my fingers and wishing the washer would hurry up! Impatient, I took another load of clothes to the kitchen sink and washed them by hand. I threw them in the dryer, so that I could be sure that I was making the best use of my time.
When I was a kid, I'd have to take epinephrine shots when I'd have a really bad asthma attack. When the effects of the shot would open my airways, I'd invariably throw up. Sorry, that's just a side effect of the shot.
Red Bull is epinephrine in a can. Not sure it helped me breathe any better, but it did make me throw up after my whirlwind cleaning spree. In my estimation, hardly a fair trade. Did I hear a news story the other day about drinks that are all the rage among young people, drinks with high alcohol AND caffeine content? What's the purpose of that, to rush to the part where you throw up? I was so exhausted after my manic episode that I collapsed on my sofa and slept for two hours straight. If I had just been disciplined enough to methodically clean my house at a normal pace, I would have ended up with the same amount of work being done, and less wear and tear on my poor heart. I hope I haven't done permanent damage to it.