Mucus Runs Deep

My head feels either very large or very heavy. I can't quite decide which it is. It's not both, or I am sure that I would be bobbing head-down on the floor like an upside down Bozo the Clown bop bag.

I am leaning toward heavy rather than large, and I do mean leaning. I am leaning on everything. Right now it happens to be a coffee mug on an old desk. Earlier, it was a shopping cart in the personal hygiene aisle of the grocery store. The bed has been my best support thus far. I cannot complain about the bed. It's fluffy.

When I was at the grocery store, I spent a long while in front of the pharmacy counter, checking over all the boxes of medication. I wanted one with everything in large doses. It couldn't be for colds and not flus. It couldn't be for allergies and not colds. It had to be a cold and flu and allergy medication. Also, it couldn't have ibuprofen, because ibuprofen makes me an easy bleeder when combined with the anti-depressant I am on, which means that I can get weird hickey-like marks just from rubbing one spot too long. If all we have is ibuprofen in the apartment, it's a choice between continuing to feel like crap or ending up looking like I had a wicked fight with a vacuum hose. It's embarrassing when that happens right in the middle of your forehead.

I found the cold/flu/allergy drug, and now I'm high. I'm kind of numb and warm and if anything comes up that requires effort on my part, I think Fuck it. I feel like that stoner I knew fourteen years ago. If you asked him a question that went beyond food, he would shrug his shoulders and say Eh, and if he was really energetic, he would say Eh, whatever with emphasis on the what syllable. Stoners have a gentle lilt when they talk, much like how drunks have a stumble when they walk only a lot nicer. I'm like that today. Only plus some stumbling. I'd be cute if you couldn't hear the mucus in my chest when I breathe.

What also isn't cute is that I had booked today off work so that I could have a long weekend.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with Dr. Phil and a tossed salad in the living room.

Embracing This Meat Machine A Little Bit At A Time