|
They tell me that I shouldn't mix Zoloft with alcohol so I've been
drinking first thing in the morning, since I take the Zoloft with my
dinner at night. Probably the combined effect of a depressant in the
morning and an antidepressant in the evening serves to cancel the other
out. Perhaps this is why I feel most "normal" around 3 am, blissfully
tucked away in the fuzzy surrender of sleep. I shouldn't get too happy; it seems to turn people off. They wonder what's wrong with me if I smile too much. Ironically, they think I'm on drugs, which of course I am, though they're probably not referring to the Alice in Wonderland one pill makes you happy, another makes you sad variety. But I don't like being depressed, either, though. It zaps all the energy and motivation out of me. And I certainly get tired of people asking me, "What's wrong?" all the time, when all they really want to hear is the standard reply, "Nothing" or a short synapsis of some great tragedy that has recently occurred, so that they have a convenient label to put on the face of my frown and furrowed brows. Yes, I'd like to be in that nice middle ground of television sit-com watching numbness. Then at least I might be just like everyone else. Last night my dog did the coolest thing. Without waking me, he got up from the bed, walked over to the edge and proceeded to hork the entire contents of his stomach off the side of the bed. He didn't get a drop of the brown goo on the sheets. Instead it landed in a neat pile on the area rug below. I was so proud of him. THAT's the kind of thing that makes me happy. Marie Callender's chicken pot pies in the freezer. That makes me happy. Making out the theme song from Jeopardy! on the windchimes ringing right outside my bedroom and imagining Alex Trebec in his skivvies asking me to please phrase my fantasies in the form of a question. That makes me happy. Opening the fridge and finding a nice big chunk of Gorgonzola cheese for my sole consumption. See, it's the simple things in life. Maybe buying illicit drugs from money-grubbing pharmacists in Tijuana isn't the best idea. My HMO provider certainly frowns upon it. My friends think I'm crazy. But at least I'm not taking antipsychotic drugs... yet. One day there will be a pill for any problem you might have. If you're fat, take a slimming pill. If you're ugly, take a beautifying pill. If you're stupid, take a smart pill. If you're blonde, take a brunette pill. You get the idea. We will be able to fix everything with the pharmaceuticals of the future. Drugs are the way to go, because there's no character or lifestyle changes to go through. None of that pesky self-improvement, character-building rubbish to deal with, which can often be expensive, time consuming, and inefficient. Imagine... just one fast easy step (with maybe the occasional harmful side effect) and you're on your way to perfection! |