9 - 4 - 2004

You fed it to me with a medicine spoon
And restored gravity in my head
I blew your horn it was merely a whistle
Now my hands lie flaccid and red

You gave me the cast before breaking me down
Hit the wrong button but played it off close
Slapped my hand when I reached for the capped dead end
I'm still here but in you I'm a ghost

The soft rehearsed rhythms of comforting thought
You whispered them into my ear
But as they defile my open remorse
They find I can no longer hear

I let you reverberate lost painting prose
For a second we lost myself
Yet you drank me up into numbered success
I was simply a toast to your health

The petals hang limply and dead in the shade
And still shaking I grasp at your hand
I inject you into my invisible veins
Short a grip there's no way I can stand

I cried myself into Advil-induced sleep

I’m well aware of my addictive personality, and so even though I’ve been having major insomnia bouts for the past few weeks, I maintained my stance that perhaps sleeping pills weren’t the best way to go about things. But last night in my desperation, I decided that instead of going the traditional Tylenol PM route, I should take to heart the suggestion that perhaps Advil PM might be a safer way to go. Why? Who the hell knows…I thought they were the same for all intents and purposes. So anyhow, I halved the standard two pill dosage two hours before bedtime, and excitedly prepared myself for what was sure to be a good night’s sleep. An hour later the words in the book started to blur and then my own started to slur (hey! that rhymes!), so I happily did my customary running leap into my semi-lofted bed – this can be quite painful when misjudging the height – and prepared to jet set into dreamland. And everything appeared fine at first: I was curled up comfortably in my jammies, my sinuses were clear and I could breathe because my mouth wash is so fucking strong, and my fan was softly buzzing next to my head. Sheer perfection. Well I was horribly disillusioned! It couldn’t have gone worse. First of all, I started to boil after about five minutes of lying there. I mean, come on! It’s the beginning of March. Isn’t it supposed to be cold or something? Not here, in the freakin “golden state.” No. I hear people back in Colorado lamenting about the snow and ice storms, but here I am, burning my ass off in bed while I’m trying to get some shut eye. Unacceptable, is what I say. Then, my temperature continued to rise about ten degrees because I was so flustered by the utter racket – that’s right, racket – that was going on next door. My extremely boisterous, shrill neighbors, coupled with the paper thin walls, make life miserable. I have seriously gone through two giant packs of ear plugs over the course of the year. No matter, I would bust them out yet again. And even though they hardly ever phase out the shrieking frequencies of my lovely house mates, I thought that being hopped up on meds might help my cause. I was even starting to feel tired. But no! It appeared as though this so called Advil PM had not abetted my fight for sleep, but rather, had heightened my senses to the excruciatingly loud, annoying world. So I threw open the windows, I kicked off my sheets, I shed layers of my comfortable pajamas. And all for nothing. The noise continued long into the night. I then sought consolation in the boy back home, but all he could offer in the way of solace were condolences and sweet nothings, and even these failed to lessen the blow. Yes, the world was against me last night. Advil PM, in my case, seemed to have a placebo effect of making me overly emotional (because I refuse to admit defeat in the way of fragility), because in the next moment I found myself softly crying into the pillow that I had flipped over fifty billion times in the constant pursuit for the cool side – one of the finer things in life, by the way. And somehow this must have done it, because the next thing I remember is waking up precisely eight hours later (those pharmaceutical companies are quite crafty) to the sounds of the garbage truck. I even felt refreshed and alert in my first class today!

Yes, life was good and I was even in a cheerful mood. But this soon gave rise to frustration because I, of course, am cynical and easily bothered. How is it that I have a penchant for constantly seeking out the most annoying people to sit next to in class? To my right reside the extremely irritating, touchy-feely Indian couple who basically lie on each other all during lecture. They trade off bringing each other coffee and fruit and yogurt parfaits so that they can loudly enjoy their breakfast at the expense of the rest of the class. Then to my left is the…well we’ll be kind and say “husky,” blonde girl hogging the arm rests and sipping on a giant smoothie. But her ritual consists of chugging this damn thing – literally – every three seconds. The girl’s like a fucking machine, raising the cup to her lips and lowering it in the most frustrating automatic motion I think I’ve ever seen. I swear to god, I’m going to be arrested for assault some day, because it took every ounce of my willpower not to stab her with my mechanical pencil. And yet, I wanted to shed light on her world, submitting that perhaps her practice of guzzling deceptively healthy drinks (come on, who are we kidding thinking that these ice cream packed “fruit smoothies” are really all that nutritious) were probably the cause of her unfortunate obesity.

Well anyhow, I’ve said my bit, and I don’t care if I seem like a heartless asshole. Perhaps I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.