I Run on Coffee, Music, Deadlines, and Side Quests

I Run on Coffee, Music, Deadlines, and Side Quests

My mornings start with a hostage situation. The hostage is me. The criminal is my alarm. The negotiator is coffee.

There’s always that first minute where I consider staying in bed and living a peaceful new life where nobody needs breakfast or emotional support before 10 AM. Then reality comes.

So I get up. Slowly.

Coffee happens before everything else. Music happens right after, because silence in the morning feels weird. If there’s no soundtrack, my brain starts narrating everything in a tone I don’t enjoy.

My kids do online private school, which is not homeschooling, even though the world insists on confusing the two. They have real teachers, real classes, real homework, real projects. It just all happens in the house. Which means my apartment is technically a home, technically a school, technically my workplace, and also, apparently, a twenty-four-hour customer service desk.

Because during the day I’m “Mom,” yes, but also “Mom on call.”

I’ll be in the middle of answering a business email, and someone will appear beside me with the urgency of a breaking news alert.

“Where do I upload this?"

“Can you check if this makes sense?”

“Please listen to this paragraph I wrote right now because it’s genius.”

And the thing is… I want to. I really do. They want to tell me everything. Not just the big stuff. The entire ecosystem. What their friends said, what someone meant by it, why it was funny, why it wasn’t, what they’re thinking about today, what they’re worried about, what they’re obsessed with.

It’s the best. And I love that our connection is that strong. I love to be the safe place I never had as a child. I love hearing it all.

Somewhere in between all of that, I’m running my small marketing business and trying to keep my writing career alive. Which is funny, because “working from home” sounds calm until you realize home is actively moving around you. My desk is messy. My brain is bussy. And the workday is never really over. (I'm writing this at 2:43 AM... this should tell you a lot.)

And I’m not even mad... Most days.

Lunch comes fast. Then snacks. Then more snacks. I try to keep the food homemade and healthy... which is also work, in a way.

We work out together because movement fixes things that talking can’t. I try to keep up with Portuguese, which is going… fine...-ish.

The dog needs her walks and attention, and the belief that every delivery person is either her best friend or a threat to the kingdom.

Then dinner. Then the post-dinner moment where I think, “Okay, now I’ll get work done,” and the universe laughs and sends one more interruption, just for fun.

By night, my planner is packed, my desk is still chaotic, my fifth coffee is cold, and my music is doing half the emotional labor. I’m tired in that specific way that isn’t physical. It’s mental tabs left open.

But here’s the annoyingly true part.... I love it.

It’s exhausting, yes. It’s also mine. It’s loud and imperfect and very real. I don’t have a calm life. I have a full one. And for whatever reason, I keep treating it like a challenge instead of a punishment.

Coffee. Music. Deadlines.

And a thousand side quests I didn’t plan… but somehow wouldn’t delete.