Flaming June

Curiouser and curiouser

In last night's Vicodin dream, Stephen Fry showed me his penis. Not, I hasten to add, because he was being a creeper, but because he wanted my advice on a health problem.

I have never had so much sympathy for Rush Limbaugh as I have since I have been taking this stuff. ("So much" means "a tiny bit more than absolute zero, probably only measurable by the most sophisticated laboratory equipment," but still.) I find the whole narcotic thing to be very unsettling, cognitively.
Flaming June

Take As Directed

One of the side effects of my kabillion different medications I'm taking for the Doom Cough (probably one of the narcotics) is constant sub-auditory hallucinations.

You know how when you have an earworm of a song, and the song is stuck in your head even though it's not like you're actually hearing the song? Imagine that, only instead of an infectious song it's a radio blipping around through various talk programs, with so much static that you only catch some of the words.

I don't know how people who live with this on a regular basis can stand it! It's so exhausting.
Flaming June

Every Day is Triffids' Day

To pile joy upon joy, I had a full range of seasonal allergy testing today. The verdict is that I am allergic to everything.

Which, yeah, I knew, but it is different to see it spelled out in red welts on your arm. Sour dock, whatever you are, you are dead to me now. DEAD I SAY.

Still have zero voice, which makes for an interesting health-care experience.