I have designated my Friday afternoons to “cafe-hopping”, as my estranged cousin had informed me that there are hundreds of individual coffee shops in Vancouver.

Today, I ventured past my usual haunts of Dunbar, Kitsilano, past the cash-plastered Shaughnessy, into the rather eclectic realm of Main Street. Following a “dejeuner” of cafe noisette and Nutella crepe, I found myself in the wonderfully minimalist Kafka’s. Now, if only I could charge my iPad and browse through “Letter to Milena”.

It’s been a rather trying week. The dreaded old pal decided to pay a visit, and I found my mind racing at the speed of light, with hands trembling once more. What had brought on this latest bout of panic attacks? The excessive caffeine intakes? The perturbing tales from group therapy? The agonizing spells of La Douleur Exquise?

The old sense of uncertainty is creeping back like some dastardly creature of the night. I try to drown myself in the humdrum of the city, but the flashes of headlights, stench of diesel, and mechanical paces of passersby only succeed in intensifying this wild panic and helplessness within.

On a side note, perhaps a second cup of coffee wasn’t the best idea, as I can feel my eyes positively popping from their sockets.

“Shall I kill myself, or shall I have another cup of coffee?”