This month, I made the decision to quit energy drinks cold turkey.

It started after I got some blood work done. My psychiatrist took one look at my panel and asked, “Do you drink a lot of energy drinks?” She must’ve seen all my vitamin levels wildly out of wack, apparently too many vitamins are bad for you? Who knew. I was proper ashamed, so I decided to cut them out entirely..

I know everyone says this, but I really do mean it when I say “I can quit when I want to.” With cigarettes, I’ve never had much trouble quitting (granted, I’m not fully quit — I still have the occasional smoke, especially on hot summer days like the ones we’ve been having). But energy drinks? Surprisingly easy. I thought it would be harder, but here we are.

Walking past the cold drinks at the grocery store and seeing the wall of Monsters and Red Bulls does sting a little — a tiny ghost of what once was. But no matter. Coffee has been there for me all along, waiting patiently, welcoming me back with open, jittery arms.

After a few days of recovery, I’m finally cogent enough to tell you about my time at Asian American Zine Fest.

I’ll admit I was being kind of a dick about this event going in. I had a hunch it wouldn’t really be my crowd or my scene — and, honestly, I wasn’t wrong. That mindset did sour it a bit for me (which I know is on me — but hey, we live, we learn).

Bad attitude aside though: it actually went way better than my last event! Granted, the bar was low since my last one basically got rained out — but still! This fest was stupid busy, which was a lot to handle, but something I noticed was that my stamina was so much better. I could actually tolerate the crowd (with the help of prescription medication) and didn’t feel dead inside after the first hour. Small wins!

Highlights: I met a guy named Sandy who somehow knew all my niche references and obscure media interests — almost like he could read my mind. We started talking while he flipped through my art zine, which is named after a Pulp song. I haven’t met another Pulp fan like that since I saw them live last year, so that was a treat.

I also met someone with an In the Mood for Love tattoo — the exact film I wrote an essay about in one of my other zines. They didn’t even say anything, just read the essay and silently flashed their arm at me. Love it. I rarely get to nerd out like that in person, so that alone made my day.

On getting recognized: it happened! More than once! And it felt bizarre in the best way. I’m still very small-time, but the fact that people recognized not just me but my work too — that hit me right in the chest. Maybe it’s about being perceived? Or being acknowledged? Who’s to say.

I also met a tattoo artist I really admire and they checked out my table :O I did my best not to panic while talking to them — I think I held it together pretty well.

Writing this is making me realize that it’s cool to interact with people — wow! Especially when there’s this weird, unspoken connection over something tiny, like a tattoo or a flip through a zine. So maybe, despite my initial grumbling, this fest actually went pretty damn well.

Cheese and rice! I’ve been neglecting this poor blog. I started a new job a few weeks ago and just haven’t felt the urge to write — but I am back, and I’m back with a penchant for oversharing something I should probably keep to myself!

I have this friend who is awesome and cool. And for the past year, he’s been showing up in my dreams constantly. I’d say he makes an appearance in about a third of them. And it’s not like these dreams are wild or scandalous (sorry to disappoint). Most of the time, we’re just hanging out, laughing, having a nice time. My favorite dream so far was one where we were chasing each other down a sunlit street and laughing so hard we couldn't breathe.

The other night I dreamt we were on a night drive together, arguing (in that playful way) about what music to play. It’s funny how vivid dreams can feel, and how ridiculously mundane they can be at the same time. Sometimes they’re so ordinary that, if you’re not careful, you could easily mix them up with real memories.

My grandma always says that if you dream about someone, it means they’re thinking about you. But realistically I think it’s just me thinking about him. I think about all my friends a lot — but for some reason, my brain seems to have decided this one should be the star of the TV show that is my ordinary dreams.