Recently, I have been sick as a dog. I blame my sister, who went with me on a corndog trip and bit into my corndog before handing it to me… after she was horribly infirm the previous weekend. But that is what I love about my sister: she has no concern for my health, and she blows burps into my face.
I started to feel really achy while in my seven hour class on Wednesday. I had no clue what was wrong with me, so I pulled a stool up to my lab bench and just tried to look pitiful. If I looked pitiful enough, maybe one of my labmates would do my lab for me and just let me die in the corner. Unfortunately enough, nobody even batted an eye and so I had to finish my lab by myself and shuffle home. I obviously needed drugs to help me out in my situation. So I when I got into my room, I pulled out my stash of drugs.
I learned to squirrel away drugs from my grandmother. She had at least one pill of every type of drug you could ever dream of in a beige, carryon bag next to her bed. To be completely honest, I wouldn’t be surprised to if she had a kilo of cocaine in the medicine bag, just in case.. . .When I was about eleven, I told my grandma that I was sick, so she gave me a breathe-right strip and five assorted pills. I questioned nothing and downed them with a liter of Cherry Coke; the next thing I know, it was 22 hours later and I had no clue where I was. Was I roofied from my grandmother? Yes.
I have developed my stash over the last couple of years and have stored everything in an old shower bag from Boy Scouts. A few pain pills from roomies’ past surgeries, cold pills, ibuprofen, aspirin; the list goes on. So I was sure I would find relief in my medicine bag, but when I looked in it, most of my pills had been ransacked. I was left with three ibuprofen, a Claritin, and a squirt of Chloraseptic. I wasn’t too surprised because every week, a roll of quarters will go missing from my bedroom—even if I hide them. I even resorted to hiding my quarters in a zipped pocket of my winter coat, but that did nothing to hamper the thief and I was, once again, quarter-less on laundry day.
I took the three ibuprofen and prayed that my sickness would go away after Zumba. Obviously, Zumba only exasperated my illness and by the end my tonsils were the size of grapefruits, keeping any passage of spit down my throat. I felt nearly rabid, and my cotton mouth made it look like I was foaming at the mouth. I hurried home so I could just end the day, and then my fever started.
I tried to break my fever by cocooning myself in a series of comforters, and going to sleep. I woke up at five in the morning, not in my bedroom, but on my leather couch and in my skimpies. I must have became so hot in my bedroom that I sleepwalked out to the couch, stripped, and then tried to cool down against the frigid leather. I stayed on the couch until eight when my neighbor started to knock on my door. Due to my unwell state, I opened the door for him, even though I was wearing practically nothing.
After my neighbor had left, I knew I had to get a fever reducer before I wound up outside, naked, in the sprinklers. So I went to Smith’s, and before I paid for my drugs I had already taken 1000 mgs of ibuprofen. In my drug induced state, I managed to finish my 44 page term paper, make a presentation on celiac disease, and frolic in the park.
For my presentation, I decided to wear my really snazzy, golden shoes. The problem with these shoes is that they are two sizes too small and usually make me feel like my feet have been amputated, but with the drugs surging through my system, I felt nothing (I’m positive that if somebody decided to nail my feet to the floor, I wouldn’t feel a thing either). When I got home, I took off my shoes to find that my left foot was covered in blood. Apparently, my pinky toenail was a bit sharp on one end and sliced open the toe next to it. Did I feel it? Nope. I am invincible with ibuprofen.
When I was about ready to go to bed for the night, I broke out some Nyquil that I bought earlier in the day. Nyquil has been notorious for making me feel loopier than all-get-out, and usually only works to get me to fall asleep, which was all I really wanted. Once the effects started to set in, I looked out my window to see two girls from my ward with strange llama figurines. I waved the girls in who proceeded to talk about the llamas. The figurines were about three inches tall and were made from alpaca wool, but the bizarre thing about the figurines was that their faces looked as if they were modeled after a special-ed class. It was a train wreck, and I could not look away. I reached my threshold of the figurines after one was revealed to have an extremely hair chest, and had to go to bed.
The second night of Nyquil, my friends Ashley and Nate came over to keep me company. We chatted and after an hour, the Nyquil began to set in. Ash, brilliant as she is, decided that this would be a great time for me to take out a hair wrap that she had that was starting to turn into a dreadlock, and so she had me try to unweave this thing from her hair, while drunk, with scissors and a pen. I, personally, would never have somebody under the influence of medication, try to cut something out of my hair without actually cutting all my hair off, but she had faith that I wouldn’t accidently scalp her. Halfway through, I could no longer differentiate what was thread and what was hair, so I sent her home with half of her hair wrap unraveled.
I woke up at six in the morning, and decided to walk out to the kitchen to grab something to drink. When I reached my cupboard, I looked back to find a woman passed out on my living room floor. Due to my morning grogginess, I just stood there and tried to remember if I let this woman in, and if so, why. It hit me that it was Andrew’s girlfriend after a good minute or so… and then I remembered that I was only in my underwear. I rushed back to bed, hoping she would be gone before I had to go to Zumba.
I got up a few hours later for Zumba, and when I went out to the front room, she was still passed out on the floor; unfortunately, when I saw her this time, she was a bit exposed. My friend Tal came over to go to Zumba with me and she opened the door to the stranger. Andrew, who had now moved out to the couch, woke up and introduced Tal to the woman. “Hey. I’m Andrew, and this is my girlfriend Sammy.” Tal looked puzzled at the sleeping woman, “Oh… Hi Sammy.” Sammy never said anything back, but I assume that her drooling was the best response she could muster in her comatose state.
