January 13, 2006
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I’m sick, I tell you — sick, sick, sick!
Even back when I was doing drugs and drinking heavily, I rarely contracted acute illnesses. My second wife once oberved acidly that I had so much alcohol in my system, no germ could survive there. Now that I don’t have that “benefit,” I still hardly ever get acutely ill, which is good, since my chronic stuff–mainly the ME/CFIS–sometimes renders me nearly immobile with pain and disability. Anyway, I am down with something now–my sweety eloquently calls it “the Alaskan crud.”
Wednesday, I was flat on my back on the bed, idly watching the ceiling move, and I was struck by how much the experience resembled being loaded.
I had the sense of pressure in the head, the muscle aches and pain, the visual distortions, and the sense of unreality that come with doing bad acid laced with strychnine. I was coughing, and had the sore throat of the chronic pot-smoker. The feeling of lethergy was akin to being on downs. And for a bonus, the chills and fever was pretty much like being in withdrawal.
Then I thought “Holy crap–I used to go out of my way to feel like this. What was I thinking?”
Comments (4)
That’s a riot.
I’m sorry you’re sick, but the realization that you used to go out of your way (and probably hand over good money) to feel that way is hysterical!
So sorry youre sick, but all that sounds so familiar. I don’t understand quite what the hell we were thinking either.
This too shall pass. I just hope it doesn’t take us with it. If we die now, we’ll miss the bird flu.
Sincerely,
Squeaky
I was GOING to comment on “I used to go out of my way to feel like this” — hilarious!
But then I read SuSu’s comment:”If we die now, we’ll miss the bird flu.” Ahhh!! You guys kill me!
I commented on her site a few minutes ago. It’s amazing that some crazy ol’ Alaskan hippies and a single New York girl can share in one another’s lives–via Xanga, of course. My eye caught the word “tranny” on your previous post. I guess “tranny” means two different things to an Alaskan and a New Yorker, right?
The last tranny who touched MY life was the one hanging out down the block from my house. He—clad in sparkly make-up and a teeny pink skirt–took time out of his busy, uh, schedule to tell me my cough sounded awful and that he hoped I felt better soon! 
I should show him my hot pink 80s stilettos–he’d dig ‘em!
Rachael