Booze

I’ve been awake since before 6 am. Mind you it’s Saturday. I’m all antsy, don’t know what to do with myself. Feel sick. Full of chemicals. Queasy.

That’s a funny word- queasy. Up there with spoof, shiv, and gander. But I have a thing with words. That’s another thing I can whine about while the rest of you guys are all cozy in your beds, probably drinking off the remnants of booze I can no longer have. Take my beer away- you bastards. I can’t find words. These goddamn pills these doctors have me on are making language evasive for me. I will know the word want somewhere in brain, but getting it to swim up through all that grey matter into speech is a whole new dish my friends. It’s killing me, making me angry, and quite frankly, turning me into an eyeliner wearing, object throwing emo pussy. No offense to you emo pussies out there. But you get my drift. I like words. When I rifle around, and I can’t find them, I get pissed.

And let me elaborate on the no booze thing. I am currently taking 2200mg on non alcohol friendly drugs, which they plan on increasing when I see the brain doctor again, so I really can’t screw around with that shit. Now, by no means am I an alcoholic, and I don’t even drink 3 days out of the week usually. But I love my beer. I love my tequila. I love my rum. And by love, I mean true, unadulterated by any kind of regret, or miss understanding. Never has tequila done me wrong- or get silent as the dark, and walk around stomping out anger. Never has rum not been there for me when I had a horrible day, or felt ugly or fat, and just needed a pick me up because some meat-headed asshole in the office told me I’d never amount to anything but a lousy secretary and I should get used to it. Never has beer told me I had an icy personality and should learn to drop my barrier instead of my pants, and mooning people when they are trying to describe the pain of lack of communication in our relationship. I don’t deal with confrontation well- and you know it. Corona would never have put me in that position.
Here is a list of drink I enjoy and will most likely never enjoy again, in no particular order:
Corona
Modelo Negro, otherwise known as Modelo Mo’Negro
Dos Equis
All Red Wines, and this one kills me
Sex on the Beach
Pina Colada
Cadillac Margaritas
Bloody Mary- the only vodka I enjoy
Anything with Patron
Prairie Fire shots

I think that’ll cover it--- and it sucks.

I really can’t find the silver lining in this; I used to think- well I never have to be designated driver cause I can’t drive. But now- well shit it doesn’t matter- I can’t drink. Bullshit man. And I don’t want to hear about my health either, becuse that’s a personal choice, and this was shoved down my throat with an iron fist. And red wine is full of antioxidants, and puking keeps you thin. Ask Kate Moss, or any girl in a sorority.
True story.

Well... I guess the whole point of this was, it’s too early for mer to be up on a Saturday. And I know you’re sleeping. I hate your face. I want to go drinking tonight, which will not happen. After the series of seizures I’ve been having, I will be the best patient ever. Yes doctor, I exercise. Of course I eat right. I take my pill everyday. Down the Hatch. My little dolls. One orange, one yellow. My head a balloon, my stomach a fucking toxic waste factory. A nuclear reactor. It kills me. Eat a bowl of cereal. The good doctor says food helps the rush of nausea. I should adjust shortly, and if I don’t, we’ll just try something else. Can’t have me having seizures- can we? No. Why thank you good doctor. I’m trying. Truth is- it’s hell. Having some trouble adjusting. Trying to go to work anyway. Gotta make the bills. Gotta pretend nothing bothers me. Blue skies are gonna clear up, all that bullshit. I just remember, it could be worse, I’m a tough piece of work, and so it goes, right?