Had I known that Hydrocodone was generic Vicodin, I would have grabbed the bottle out of my mother's hand when she offered it to me. That was weeks ago.
Shortly after Trey's DUI arrest, I brushed up on my pharmacopoeia lingo and discovered that I had access to a lot of painkillers. Sweet. Mother. Of. God.
I fell asleep shortly before sunrise and woke up around 10ish. I wanted to sleep from 2 to 7, but I can never control that aspect of my life. I should have stayed up until 6am working, reading, or playing online poker. Instead, I tried to fall asleep by listening to music and kept digging through my iPod hoping that the next album I'd put on would be the music I eventually fell asleep to. No suck luck.
When I woke, I rushed over to the grocery store to buy bananas, skim milk, and Grape Nuts for breakfast. It was cold and an old Jewish lady with a cane cursed at me under her breath after I refused to let her cut in front of me with a twenty items in an express lane. I pointed up at the "Express Lane 10 Items or Less" sign and she hobbled off. Fuckin' angle shooters.
I loaded up on Vitamin B-12 and C to ward off the inkling of a cold that I detected on Tuesday night. My immune system is in good spirits these days, but the absurd fluctuations in temperatures in NYC (60 to 30) has been messing with my body. Either I'm totally overdressed and sweating my ass off or undressed and freezing my nipples solid.
With less than an hour to spare, I breezed through a second draft of an article that was due at Noon. I thought about getting up early to write it, but felt good that the A-Student in me made the command decision to start preliminary notes on the article on Tuesday afternoon and finished the first draft late last night.
I felt blah while I wrote. Not full on sick, but not quite right. I could tell there was a battle going on in my blood stream. A cold wanted to take control of my body but my boosted immune system was fighting it off. The result was that middle ground where you feel like you are about to get sick or the day after you've been sick and you are starting to feel better. I couldn't tell which part of me was which.
That was fitting since I had seen A Scanner Darkly the night before and I was in the right frame of mind to question my sanity and personal identity crisis. Like most works by Philip K. Dick, I ended up asking a lot of questions afterward I saw the film. Twice. Like... what the fuck happened there? I still don't get it. Maybe I should get addicted to speed? Is the government bugging me? Hacking my email?
I ignored conventional cold remedies like NyQuil or Sudafed and popped a pain killer instead to fight off the germs. I figured whatever aches and sluggish nature would simply evaporate.
I waited for the warm fuzziness to kick in before I started writing for a few more hours. I read for twenty minutes before I forgot about a Netflix movie that my mother wanted me to mail for her. It was The Devil Wears Prada, a chick lit book about the fashion industry that Hollyweird brought to the big screen. Maybe the pills were starting to work, because I decided to put it on and give the flick a watch. I'm a Meryl Streep fan and ever since I saw Anne Hathaway's tits, I've had this odd fantasy that I want to fuck her brains out with a face towel from the Bellagio stuffed into her mouth.
So I watched the chick flick based on chick lit hoping to see Anne Hathaway's tits. I got about twenty minutes in before I gave up. Actually, I got scared because there was a scene where the main character gave her friend a free Marc Jacobs bag. When she pulled it out I immediately thought, "That's a Marc Jacobs bag. Nicky has one just like that but in red... actually it's not red more like strawberry colored or a dark pink."
That's when I jumped up before a giant beer can fell out of the sky and smashed me on the head. I turned off the movie, sealed it up, and decided that the pharmies had kicked in. Time to stop farting around and write...
I wrote for an hour before I worked on something for my poker blog. I rambled on for forty minutes before I decided I sounded like a drug fiend describing the dark side of Las Vegas and how seedy the poker world is. I then realized that's why people read the blog. Everyday.
I stopped to field two phone calls before updating the languishing Tao of Pauly. I think you've been caught up with everything. I still feel blah. What else is new?