Just Say No and stuff…

I could never be a drug addict. I’m, like, 99.99% sure of this. Totally.

Now, before you’re all, “What makes her think she’s so special that she couldn’t easily fall into reckless drug abuse like a small percent of the American population?” (don’t know the actual number—I was too lazy to look it up), let me tell you why.

Because right now I’m taking one measly, stinkin’ antibiotic, and it’s making me all kinds of freaky.

Take two nights ago (night one of meds). I popped said pill, and about an hour later, went to bed. Where I quickly dreamed that a man brandishing a 2 X 4 was chasing me down my street. And I was running, and running, and running, and wishing I hadn’t given up exercise last year because the crazy man was gaining on me. And just as he raised the thing to smack me on the head, I woke up. And I was out of breath. And slightly puzzled. First, because I don’t normally have strange dreams when I’m sleeping. Second, though I couldn’t be entirely sure because the images were fuzzy, I’m fairly certain the man was a neighbor of mine, and I think he might’ve been upset because my recycle bin blew into his yard last week. Again, I’m not completely sure. But if he glares at me the next time I see him, I’ll totally know I’m right.

So then I shook off that dream and went back to sleep. Within seconds, I was grocery shopping—picking out bananas and apples and grapes and Milk Duds. And like dreams tend to do, time fast-forwarded and I was suddenly pulling into my driveway. This awesome dream completely skipped over the bagging and the paying and the loading of the car. Oh, if real life could be so kind. Anyway, I opened my trunk and picked up all the bags in one hand (because also sometimes in my dreams I wear a Wonder Woman suit and have ridiculous strength in my pinky finger), and carried them into the house. And I pulled out the fruit. And everything was rotten. The bananas were like slime. The apples crumbled in my hand. The grapes looked like a bunch of raisins stuck to stems-except they were pink. Not like raisins at all. And the Milk Duds weren’t even there! Like they had disappeared on the drive home! This dream had turned into a nightmare.

But then I woke up, breathed a sigh of relief, and rolled over.

And found myself shopping in the kid’s section of what appeared to be JC Penney. Which wouldn’t be all that strange, except that I was trying on clothes FOR MYSELF. And nothing fit. And I was getting frustrated. But to make things even weirder, Real Me (lying there asleep) was screaming at Dream-Like Me (still trying on clothes that would be too tight for my four-year-old), “You’re in the wrong department! You’re in the wrong department!” But Dream-Like Me wouldn’t listen. Dream-Like Me kept trying on clothes, convinced that she could magically cram herself into a size 3T.

As if I would ever wear clothes this tight in public. I’m sure.

So after a horribly restless night, I was stinkin’ tired. Which is why last night I figured I would fall into an exhausted sleep and stay that way. So I took another pill and fell into bed.

And found myself at school. And Adam Levine was my lab partner. And he sat down and looked at me and I was all “hey,” and he was all “hey,” right back at me. And then I woke up. And that was it. And I was so disappointed in this dream, because at least he could have serenaded me or judged my ability to dissect a pig’s ear. Something more personal than “whassup?” Such a waste of a weird dream.

And that’s the only freaky dream I had that night. But I have one pill left, and I’m swallowing shortly. I’m kinda afraid to take it, and if it wasn’t for all the coughing I’ve been doing lately, I probably wouldn’t. But like so many other tough decisions I face in life, I choose to not cough. Therefore, I also choose to endure strange, verging-on-hallucinogenic dreams.

Which is why I’ll never take hard drugs. Can you imagine what I’d be like on, say, Metamucil? Or worse, Vicks VapoRub? It’s a mystery I will never know. Antibiotics make me crazy enough.


Thanks to the miracle of Netflix, I have now joined the Downton Abbey craze. I’m only two shows in, but so far I really like it. At this point, my favorite characters are the old, gray-headed grandmother (played by Dame Maggie Smith) and a maid named Daisy (played by I have no idea). The old lady is crotchety, always speaks her mind, and seems to love the color black. The maid is flighty, klutzy, awkward, and speaks with a lisp.

Put these two characters together, and it’s almost like looking in a mirror.

Talk to you later—


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