This whole freedom thing hit me sideways during morning coffee run. See, I used to grab the exact same bitter black brew every single day at Starbucks like a zombie.
The Wallet Moment
Today I'm staring at the menu board sweating under my shirt. Barista asks "usual?" and suddenly my hand shakes reaching for wallet. Felt like choosing between damn coffee flavors meant choosing my entire damn life path.
Choice paralysis hit hard:
- Mocha? Too sweet feels childish
- Cold brew? Too pretentious for 8AM
- Black? Safe but tastes like punishment
Clock ticking. Line behind me coughing. My fingers actually trembled scrolling payment app. That "condemned to be free" crap became real when I blurted "JUST GIVE ME BLACK" like some war prisoner ordering last meal.
Office Rebellion
Sat at my desk clutching that terrible coffee realizing: every damn Slack notification felt like someone else steering my life. Boss pings "urgent report" - same one I've done weekly for 3 years. Mouse hovering over spreadsheet when freedom rage bubbled up.
Did something unthinkable:
Typed "PERSONAL DAY" in company calendar with shaking hands. Sent email saying "stomach issues" (technically true - freedom butterflies were wrecking my guts). Walked out past security feeling like escaped convict.
Panic Park Bench
Sat freezing on a bench watching pigeons fight over crumbs. Realized even this stupid "free time" came with choices:
- Read book? Feels productive
- Browse memes? Feels lazy
- Stare at clouds? That's just weird
Literally started giggling like madman when pigeon landed on my shoe. Thought: "Even birds ain't free - gotta peck concrete all damn day."
The Email Heard 'Round My World
Phone buzzing. Boss asking "report status?" Freedom switch flipped. Crumpled coffee cup in hand - still full of that nasty black brew - I drafted nuclear option:
Subject: Effective Immediately
Body: I QUIT. Stop emailing me. CHOOSE ANYTHING ELSE.
Sent before brain caught up. Immediate adrenaline rush followed by "oh crap I just killed my paycheck" stomach drop.
Now What?
Currently sitting in public library writing this. Freedom feels like carrying wet shopping bag with holes - heavy, messy, leaking everywhere. Phone keeps dying from doomscrolling job boards. Sartre wasn't kidding about "condemnation." Whole weight of existence rests on these shaky hands typing nonsense.
Today's Freedom Report Card:
- Job status: Unemployed
- Life choices made: 2 (quit, write)
- Stress level: Defcon 1
- Actual progress made: Zero
Maybe freedom's like cheap whiskey - burns going down but might feel better later? Or maybe I'm just screwed. Either way, choices are mine now. Might go get sweet mocha tomorrow. Just to spite my old zombie self.
(Bringing cardboard box to desk tomorrow feels scarier than any Starbucks menu. Wish me luck. Or don't. Apparently I choose.)
