By Friday this week, my noodle (aka brain, aka perpetual motion machine of chaos) was officially fried. Not scrambled, not sunny-side-up, but fried. Normally, my neurodivergent engine kicks into high gear when there’s change. Dynamic change? Oh, I’m there, turbocharged, flying past the speed of light. But strategic change? Nah, my brain just shrugs and asks, "Do we have to?" Add to that my body deciding, in all its wisdom, that 3:30 AM is the new rise-and-shine time, despite me not crashing until 10 PM-ish. I’m basically running on fumes, caffeine, and pure spite by the end of the week. Fun times.
Don’t get me wrong—there were bright spots in this week. It was rewarding in that "this feels like it should matter" kind of way. But because my noodle is burning through mental energy faster than the Sun burns hydrogen, my physical energy is lagging behind like a dial-up connection. I know, I know, others have it worse, I should be grateful, blah blah blah. Can we skip that part? Cool.
Saturday Shenanigans: The Jimmy D Chronicles
Ah, Saturday. A day of rest… for people who don’t have errands. My wife and I hit the road early this morning, and I was doing great—for about an hour. Then the antsiness set in. Some days I’m "Country Jimmy D," all relaxed and happy in the quiet. Other days, I’m "City Jimmy D," ready to hustle, bustle, and sip overpriced coffee like I’m auditioning for a rom-com. On this brisk North Carolina morning, my noodle demanded city vibes. Enter Coco’s Bistro and Bar in Chapel Hill—a place I’ve been eyeing for ages but kept putting off because of my tendency to romanticize every little thing.
Let’s pause here. Romanticizing tiny things is both a blessing and a curse. It starts with, "Oh, this would be lovely on a spring day," morphs into hyperfocus mode with a thousand tabs open, and somehow ends with disappointment. But today, I said, "Screw it, we’re doing this."
Breakfast at Coco’s: A Plant-Based Adventure
The menu had me intrigued with something I’ve never tried before: plant-based sunny-side eggs. My brain said, "This is it. This is the hill we’re dying on." I ordered the Eggs Benedict, figuring if these fake eggs could survive poaching, they were the real deal.
First impressions: The egg whites? Perfect. Nailed the taste and texture. The yolks? Runny, as they should be, but they lacked the richness I was craving. But overall? A win. The hollandaise sauce was fine, though I’ve never been a fan, so take that with a grain of salt. The hickory-smoked rounds, Coco’s version of Canadian bacon, were... there. Not bad, not great, just there. The English muffins, though? Absolute perfection. 10/10 would eat again. Next time, I’m trying the "All-American Breakfast" because their plant-based bacon looks like it might be life-changing.
City Jimmy D Does Starbucks
After breakfast, "City Jimmy D" was still in full swing, so I decided to blow my budget on one of those plant-based Starbucks drinks that screams, "Look at me, I’m an influencer!" You know, the kind of drink that makes you feel like you should be filming a TikTok where you dramatically sip it in front of some aesthetically pleasing brick wall. Except, let’s be real: I think I have negative followers now. I didn’t even know that was possible, but apparently, somewhere out there, people have unfollowed me preemptively, just to avoid the secondhand cringe. If that’s not a flex, I don’t know what is.
Speaking of flexes, downtown Durham was a mess. There was some road race, which meant I had plenty of time to sit, stew, and ponder life’s great mysteries. For example: Why do road races always seem to happen when I have places to be? Also, I discovered two new AI apps during my standstill. One of them, Synthesia, creates dynamic training videos. Past-me could have used this for projects. Present-me is plotting how to sharpen this skill, because why not add another tool to the chaos toolkit?
The Durham Public Library: Aspirations vs. Reality
Now, I’m camped out at the Durham Public Library with my ultra-portable workstation set up like a tech nomad ready to conquer the world. My grand plan? Organize my week. The reality? Let’s be real, I’m probably just going to doodle, spiral into 47 unrelated Google searches, and eventually reminisce about that weekend at The Durham Hotel when I listened to jazz in the lobby and pretended I was mysterious and sophisticated. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.
But hey, at least I’m here, writing this blog and proving that even when my noodle’s running on low, I can still string some sarcastic words together. Now, excuse me while I abandon this "organization" nonsense and go find more overpriced coffee.
Here’s to next week being slightly less chaotic—but let’s not count on it.
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