I should preface this entry with a disclaimer stating that I am not to be held responsible for anything I am about to say. I’m currently drugged to the gills on Tylenol Cold medication and not just a little bit medicine-headish. I’m a bit of a pariah at work today as people who have had the flu are laughing at me and yet avoiding me and people who have not yet had the flu are cowering in the corners to keep away from me. It feels good being a social outcast. No, really!
The thing about Tylenol Cold is that it’s great to take when I’m home sick because it seems to just knock the crap out of me, but since I’m sitting here at work and forgetting my name when I answer the phone, I think perhaps it wasn’t necessarily the wisest choice this morning. Especially since I’m pretty sure that in my groggy state I took the nighttime version. Curses upon you, handy double package with both daytime and nighttime medication nestled together in a snug embrace!
It kind of reminds me of one time when I’m pretty sure I accidentally got a little bit high. When I was younger, probably middle school through early highschool, I had about 400 million different inhalers for my bronchial issues. Some were chambers, some where bags, some you just twisted the top to break a pill and inhaled. So, the interesting part was always trying to remember how many pumps of the aerosol medicine dispensers you were supposed to do and how many times to perform the inhalation. I came home from school one afternoon after a particularly rough day for my poor, abused lungs, so I decided to take a hit off the drugs. (Ah, it makes me feel like such a rebel to say that!) I must have done two pumps instead of one, or two puffs instead of one, details shmetails.
All I remember is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my mother’s hutch, and thinking about how beautiful and sparkly all of the dishes and glasses were and why I didn't notice that more often and God, I really don't appreciate my parents, they are just the greatest parents in the world, they probably don't even love me anymore because I'm such a rotten daughter, and those dishes are just GORGEOUS. And I remember then putting my head down on the table, at what was more than likely a normal speed, but just feeling like it took FOREVER for my head to go from the upright position to smacking against the cold wood. That’s been my one and only experience with drugs—well, aside from the time I had my tooth pulled and they used laughing gas on me. That was a real “gas”, get it? Gas?
So, anyway, that’s my story for today. I hope that you got a giggle out of it the way I did, even though I’m sure my giggle was a little more manic since it was probably drug induced. Oh, and crack is whack, but I dig on asthma inhalers.