Tussinex

Hanging suspended within a reality I don't quite recognize and haven't the resources to properly investigate - think am having some sort of adverse reaction to the meds I'm taking to cure The Cough of 2007, as am now labelling it. You better believe it's capitalized. This beast of a virus/microbe/bacteria invader has left tornadic destruction in its wake (upon surveying my clutter-dotted carpet landscape I see this has an all too depressing literal significance) and I'm stuck in hallucinogenic hell, 9th circle.

For reasons unknown the meds seem to have gone to battle not against the disease that's robbed me of a decent week of school work (oh god oh god oh god) but in a feud against one another. Fun symptoms currently include inability to focus, mild hallucinations (mistook snow shovel for an alley cat), small colored spots everywhere (think rainbow sprinkles meets psych test), tremors, dry mouth (oh for god's sake), nausea, dizziness, weird taste in my mouth?

I can only imagine how pleasurable this list will be to read later. Haven't been able to construct a proper sentence aloud in past several hours and fear this will be no exception to rule. Keep drinking water in hopes that, as often happens with murderously stormy hangovers, these symptoms will quietly vanish and I may roll my eyes and chalk this up to "dehydration" or "low blood sugar" or one of my moons being stuck in the wrong house somewhere. Damnit. Except I am at least smart enough not to drink with this elixir in my system. Because there are no ways to salvage anything once the fine line has been crossed and it is a hideous, hideous site to behold.

I don't feel like myself: quite frankly I feel stoned. Which excepting for the possibility of Immaculate High (loosely based on Immaculate Conception - well honestly if virgins are birthing offspring there leaves little else to cherish with cynicism - and for all I know Indianapolis may be pumping the sewers full of narcotic gases in a desperate ploy to boost downtown business), that is not a possibility. I can't explain any better though. Dizzy and lightheaded and cross-eyed and dry mouth... ok about this dry mouth, never had it before and am definitely casting my vote "against." I feel like a swallowed a tube sock. How I pity asthmatics.

Trying to keep awake by any means possible for at least 15 more minutes to imbibe enough water to fill a Malibu swimming pool. Am so damn tired. And this self-imposed sleep strike is not conducive to my need to pass the hell out, drool merrily on my pillow, and pray for uncomplicated dreams.

Am boycotting the Tussinex tomorrow. Whatever pills I gulped down today were clearly most disavantageously (shit that looks funny) forced into a disastrous relationship. Am running out of patience and metaphors. My eyes are sore. Here's a tasty bit of irony from my afternoon: windy day, contacts irritated, I take to the rewetting drops like a temp actress in a daytime soap opera funeral scene. Eyes don't improve, start to burn, damn they sting like holy hell - Clear Eyes to the rescue again. Picture me at this moment. I have spent 45 minutes removing my lenses to be cleaned and scrubbed and cleaned and placed back in my now Bride-of-Chucky red eyeballs which have not ceased to water (complete with sniffles, that oh-so-sexy watercolor streak of ruined mascara, and the realization after being in such close proximity to the mirror that my eyebrows have decided to go the way of Ugly Betty) when suddenly I realize that the goddamn Clear Eyes drops are actually the entire problem. Whether I'm allergic to the formula or I just got a shitty toxic bottle, it couldn't be more obvious that I have spent most of an hour systematically poisoning each of my poor, defenseless eyes. Motherfucker. If I ever get my hands on that damn Ben Stein I'll kill him for endorsing such a dangerous biological agent. My God it's domestic terrorism. Call the President. No, let's ummm... not. Times like these require heavy artillery. ("Who you gonna call... Ghostbusters?") JACK BAUER! He will seek our freedom-loving nation's revenge against the evil mastermind Stein and America will applaud the demise of a man of only one word, "Bueller?"

6 more minutes. Don't know if I'll actually have the courage to post this... well courage is perhaps the wrong term. Have doubtlessly managed to produce nothing more spectacular or original than a long-winded burst of incoherent nonsense. And I haven't even a Jabberwocky to set a proper mood. 'Twas brillig, though. Rest assured of that.

3 minutes. I'll brush my teeth to kill time (and germs and hopefully this delightful fruit-of-the-loom taste that won't seem to go away) and try not to remember details about brain tumors and tasting metal. (Is it pennies? No matter. Think Aquafresh).

This would be an opportune moment for a Juanita-ism: "Hallelujah! Praise Jesus!"

Anyone not acquainted with the Sordid Lives reference has two options. First option is to hasten (with the speed of oh say a bullet train or perhaps the stampede to the open bar at a wedding reception... haha or a sorority formal in the Windy City where certain morally bankrupt couples smuggled entire bottles of whiskey out of sight of the depressingly unaware barkeep and chugged the contents in record-breaking time whilst "hiding" inconspicuously in a goddamn cactus I mean hypothetically speaking of course this is merely a fictitious anecdote used to illustrate and the story is not without a moral as this band of thieves really was only granted temporary custody of the alcohol and promptly returned said alcohol to the city itself though such varied collection sites as hotel toilets, dumpsters, trashcans, gutters, of course, yes, and a cyclone of bedlinens that - in a glorious display of my incomparable good fortune in life - actually greeted my cheerless face the next morning... that is to say... hypothetically...) nearest rental store/pawnshop/Delta Burke fan club headquarters and procuring a copy (by any means necessary) to be watched immediately and without pause or may hereafter be considered demoted to rank of "serf." No, lower than that. Even serfs would rent the damn movie. Anyone not willing to sacrifice a mere 2.5 hours for mandatory learning purposes will be stuck cleaning up after serf dogs, which considering standard of living in medieval serf peasantry will probably imply scrawny packs of mangy, wild-eyed, flea-infested canines who are likely ravenous... and incontinent.

Definitely not posting this. Saving as draft. Sweet Jesus if some freak-of-nature event actually does occur and I am struck by lightening tonight or smashed because a plane drops an engine on my building or hell if I just trip on my way to the bathroom and land at the pearly gates like 'ole Peggy herself, well damn it all to hell I do not want this to represent my final earthly thoughts. Can't even read the screen. Shit and just thought of something, wasn't it chloroform that leaves the taste of copper on your tongue? Hmmm. So we're down to fatigue, poison by choloroform (however the hizzle you spell that damn thihng), adverse drug interaction, dehydration, and oh whatever the hell else. Am having an inkling that tomorrow's shift will be absolutely tragic. If such be the will of the fates, I say let it rain. Bring on the weeping.
And the "lamentations of the women and children"
[CONAN THE BARBARIAN: ultimate wisdom beyond all imagination.... well his at least.]