I’m
glad I’m not really high or anything. Once I make these noodles and the science
happens in my stomach with the salt and the drugs, I will be better again. *begins to cook on a gas stove that you have to light
with matches* OMG I SMELL GAS. I wonder if
I can figure out the chemical equation for what’s happening cooking this food
on a gas stove. *water
boils* Who put bubbles in there? Science is
awesome. Look at the air escaping.
 |
| https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/trisha-yearwood/snickerdoodles-recipe-2041594 |
You
have to wonder why, of all the food items, I made the hardest thing considering
my emotional, mental, and physical state. I decided against foods that need no
preparation, because when you are on drugs, raw food won’t help. Your food has
to be manipulated and prepared in order for you to get well again. I knew that
the leftovers were out because of all the radiation from microwaves. The
radiation would have an exponential reaction inside me because of all the THC
in my system thereby stopping the pacemaker in my heart that I don’t have, so
that’s a negative ghostrider.
Somehow
these noodles get made. I honestly can’t tell you what happened between the
bubbles, escaped air, and bowl. I also have not burned the house down, which is
rather remarkable because I love fire. Also, this is a great time to note that
my sisters and I burned down a whole stove and half a kitchen, so this is a
real possible thing that I am more than qualified to do. Anyway, I made it from
the kitchen to my room, to my bed. I am on the bed. The bowl is in my hand. The
fork is in the other hand stabbing the air particles between me and the TV
because Matt Damn is still on and I realize that I hate him. But I don’t hate
him too much because, Good Will Hunting. We both really like doing math for fun
because of what our intelligence does to the mathematically incompetent. It
amuses us. But that’s it. That’s the only redeeming thing on Earth about him.
I
finally begin eating and stop – almost instantly. Yooooo, I’m like
eating in HD right now. I can feel the chemical compounds. Like
the ions and everything. All the complex sugars. All the hypertensive salts.
The electrons are waging war on each other and I can taste it all. I need to
document this because nobody will believe me. They must know what I have
achieved this day in the name of science. *looks for a pen and old o-chem lab notebook*
*an actual moment of real clarity* I’m high as a kite atop Mount Everest in
July. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done. Dear God, please let me forget
this. I will never aga--- *high
resumes*
I’m
doing more air math, while composing a hypothesis for what happens to the human
body while eating in HD and watching a movie in HD. Another movie has come on –
finally – and I’ve had two outfit changes. Apparently, I cannot decide if I am
overdressed or underdressed for being high. Because that’s something that has a
dress code.
HALF HOUR LATER. I think I ate crack. I am taking off
clothes, putting clothes on, getting in the bed under the covers, laying down
trying to go to sleep, getting back up, and taking off clothes again, in this
vicious cycle. I count at least ten times doing this. Each time before I get
back up, I say to myself, This is the last
time, it’s gonna work. Only
I don’t know what is broken or what needs to work. Are they different or the
same? I should call my friend. I need help. She will understand this *neck scratch* she’s the only one who can understand
it. I should call her.
Are
you crazy?!?! Then the police will know where the drugs came from! You know the
game don’t wait for snitches – stitches do. If I drop a dime on her, who is gonna
be left to put money on my books? I should read more. I mean I read a lot, but
some of my favorite books are in storage and I don’t wanna buy duplicates. I
could stand a trip to Barnes & Noble. There is nothing noble about what I
have done today. I am going to die.
WAIT!
I got it!!! In Bad Boys II, Martin took drugs accidentally, too. Even though
they were different drugs, they were drugs taken by accident, so this line of
logic still works. Keep going. Also, drink water from a vase with flowers in
them. Keep going. He got in the tub and took a cold shower, so his head
wouldn’t explode (*smirks* but
his other one might… Call Theresa…lol). KEEP.
GOING. They called a poison control lady. YES. Drugs are poison. YES. This will
work. But on the off chance I’m poison(ed) like
BBD I’m as good as done for because I have a big butt and a smile. Since BBD
wasn’t on the movie soundtrack, I think I’m good. This will work. I will
un-high myself. I wonder if I will have to get a sponsor and go to NA meetings
now?
What
was I doing? *ten
minutes later*
Shower.
In the shower, I realize that I’ve made a mess of things. Not because I’ve
gotten in the cold shower, but I’m naked like in normal showers. I’m not
supposed to be naked because in the movie Martin had on a visor, tank top,
boxers, and socks. I controlled for the wrong variables. FCUK – THERE IS AN
OUTFIT FOR BEING ON DRUGS! This too hard a burden to bear, Lord. I
need a terry cloth robe too. What have I done? I should get out of the shower.
When the police come, I don’t want them to find my naked winter
body freezing
in the tub. Someone might put ice in here and take my kidneys. I hope our blood
types are different and their work is all in vain. Assholes.
Speaking
of, this vein in my head is throbbing. Must be the electricity from the synapses
in my brain. That’s totally normal, never mind. I can just feel them now
because I’m unplugged from the Matrix. I should rest because that’s what Neo
did after he got back from seeing the Oracle for the last time.
POST●ish PARANOIA (if you can even call it
that). There is no way I can go to work. I’m
not high as Mount Kilimanjaro bound kites in January anymore but I am as high
as one of those packages on the shelves I can’t reach. I decide that I cannot
go to work in my condition because I am not really sure where I work. I can see
the 3D google map in my head, but my legs aren’t moving. I feel blood
circulating, so I’m still alive. This is just not okay. So, I somehow type the
longest out of
the office manifesto in email because you have to
not explain that the reason you are not coming to work is because you are high
and seeing dead people on mountains with kites. Yo, WTF did I eat? There are no
signs of this condition fading – I’m just faded. As I closed my laptop, the
fold on my towel became undone. I have slept on top of my made-up messy bed, in
a towel, with one sock on.
I
reiterate to Jesus how much I do not want to remember any of this, and I drift
off to sleep. I wake up the next day around the time this whole misadventure in
snickerdoodle’ing began. I have a ton of missed calls
and text messages. Like, how did I not hear any of the notifications – there
were so many, and the phone was near my ear (don’t
ask me how). Did I go out last night? What was I
drinking? Maybe I should look in my purse for receipts to see where I’ve been
and what I done. This is a work day – why am I not at work? I say to myself
aloud, That’s the name of it! Escape From
L.A.! Did I watch that movie last night? He was in Executive Decision, too.
Awww, Halle Berry…
I
laid there trying to figure out why Kurt Russell was even on my mind. Or Matt
Damon. Why am I thinking about him when I hate him so much? Wait? I hate Matt
Damon? I wake myself to a seated position and transition my feet from the bed
to the hardwood floor. I feel the softness and coldness of the wood. I begin to
weep gently, looking down at my feet. I have on one sock – one sock only.
I
remember every single thing.
Also,
an entire year passed before I ate another snickerdoodle, so there’s that.
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