ETHER DIARIES

controlled breaths | uncontrolled thoughts

Quarter Past Tito

Published by

Mark Andrew Cruz

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    It’s just 9:15 p.m., but my mouth keeps betraying me with yawns so wide they could swallow my coffee mug. I drained the last drops from the coffeemaker, hoping caffeine might sharpen my brain enough to absorb CNN’s latest update on the North Korean-American conflict. No luck.
    These days, staying up past 11 feels like a feat. I used to greet sunrise with wide eyes—whether cramming for exams, binge-watching dramas, or laughing with friends over greasy food and bad decisions. Now, with unfinished office work glaring at me, I simply shrugged and called it a night. Anyway, I’m up at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow. Saturday, for what it’s worth.
    Lying in bed, I mentally ticked off tomorrow’s to-do list. First order of business: my outfit. I sprang up and pulled out a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, khaki chinos, and leather loafers. Classic. I spotted my old tight shirt and skinny jeans too, but the memory of crotch discomfort was enough to veto that idea.

Wardrobe settled, I returned to bed and resumed planning. Drop by the laundromat. Get the car washed. Pay bills—in order: association dues, electric, credit card. I tried to mentally audit my credit card charges: the fridge… the car vacuum… the coffee table and carpet… groceries.

Groceries. That last trip to Landers was oddly satisfying. After work, my friends and I raced to the store like it was a party. I scored a bathroom mat on sale, grapes, nuts, and a dozen cans of zero-calorie soda (because yes, calories matter now).

Then I remembered the upcoming movie night I’m hosting. It’s going to be chill—cheese, cold cuts, crackers, and a solid film. I grabbed my phone and texted my friend to remind her about the Martini she promised to bring.

Another yawn. It’s just 10:00 p.m. I used to consider this the start of my night. That recent club visit? Not worth retelling. The strobe lights and relentless “tugs tugs” beat triggered a migraine so bad I threw up, not from alcohol, but from sensory overload. I’m officially allergic to nightlife.

I closed my eyes one last time, thoughts unraveling into a tangle of plans and stray memories. Sleep hovered near. Then, one final thought surfaced—sharp, undeniable, and weirdly comforting:

“Shit. I’m a tito.”

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Hello,

I’m Macoy Cruz

I’m an obstetric anesthesiologist by training, and honestly, a satirist because it’s the only way to stay sane. Most days I’m tucked behind the drapes, dealing with misbehaving vitals, badly timed alarms, and patients who may or may not be fully committed to consciousness.

I was clinically diagnosed with depression in 2018, and it has been relapsing ever since. I look fine most of the time. I function. I teach. I work. Then the heaviness shows up again, stays for a while, and eventually lets go. It comes and goes in cycles, and I have learned to move with it even when it feels like it is pulling me under.

This blog has become part of how I cope. Writing helps me steady myself when the quiet depression returns. It gives me a place to breathe and make sense of the days when I feel like I am slipping beneath the surface.

So this space is my cool down zone. Part storytime, part rant, part emotional first aid kit. Expect thoughts on medicine, life, and the strange challenge of staying awake in a system that seems built to knock everyone out, figuratively and literally.

Let’s connect

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