February 26, 2019

this is your brain on drugs

Am only daytime
pomegranate.
Prepare to fall out of your chair from utter shock:  I bungled my meds again yesterday.  See, what happened is, I had moved the Lamictal back to my morning pill container a few weeks ago because I had suicidal thoughts when I combined it with my nighttime lithium, and yesterday morning I got in my car and realized I hadn't taken my meds, and then I said to myself, "Yeah, but it's just the stupid ones and I have two of them with me anyway, so I'll take them at work," because I forgot that I'd moved it back and my brain was still stuck on my having moved it the first time and I didn't want to walk back upstairs because I was running late.

Primacy bites again.

Thus, I spent the day yesterday thinking self-annihilation was shimmery and appealing and wanting to growl at everyone, including at myself and at the dogs, who thought I just wanted to play tug-of-war, so that part worked out, but this morning I found the pill and was all Oh.  That again.

And today:  Whizzy-Brain.

It's not the worst whizzy-brain I've experienced.  I got mad in the bathroom when I saw a tube of Midnight Pomegranate hand lotion from Avon, because what the fuck is special about pomegranates at midnight as opposed to, say, two in the afternoon?  I was trying to stop thinking about pomegranate circadian rhythms and also stop shaking my foot, all while trying to get "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" out of my head and experiencing linguistic saturation with the word "potato".

See?  Now you're going to read "potato" over and over again and the same thing will happen to you.  It's like mentioning "It's a Small World After All" but exponentially less evil than doing that, and I would never do that to you.  Relax.  It's actually a pretty big world.  Not that I'd bring it up.

UPDATE:  So there's this, but I question the effect of the plastic bag on the religious efficacy of the practice.

5 comments:

  1. Midnight Pomegranate is marketing magic, don't you understand? Midnight pomegranates imply mysterious fruity sex time, without actually implying sex. So that lotion... what'd it smell like again?
    I'm horrified by your off-kilter meds situation, but I can't help but be entertained at the same time by the thought of "potato" saturating your day. Please get better so I can be less confused!

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    1. What in the percolating fuck does a pomegranate have to do with sex? I can't think of any viable way for one to get involved without it being painful or messy or at least very, very socially awkward. Unless ... no. Not even that.

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    2. Bahaha! Maybe midnight implies the sex, pomegranate just implies... um... maybe I just have a dirty mind. I can't think of any way to involve pomegrates without accidentally choking, or pelting someone in the head with one now. They're really like leathery softballs, they're great for pelting.
      Oh I get it! Maybe Midnight Pomegranate is when you're asleep and someone pelts you in the head with a leathery softball pomegranate.

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    3. I have never touched a pomegranate. I have not yet lived. And as far as I can tell, one has never touched me, i.e., been thrown at my head, on account of I'm still alive. I need a produce stand ... *wanders off*

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    4. I smelled it today, finally. There was this diaper rash ointment that they had back in the 1980s called Desitin ... they still have it, actually, I think ... yeah.

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