"An emergency prescription for Roxicet" -- music to my ears after my doctor told me my sore throat was likely being caused by lesions on my esophagus. Nasty! But I have to admit it made me feel like less of a wimp for letting a sore throat bring me down so hard and fast. Lesions, man!
Roxicet, which is as fun as it sounds, is basically liquid percocet -- and it's like butter. A half a teaspoon of this stuff and it's all rainbows and unicorns and Turtles' songs. It's an overwhelming sense of well being. It's Happy Time. I sat slack jawed on the couch, staring at the TV with my tongue hanging out for about 20 minutes before I realized I was stoned out of my mind. Why the hell am I watching Walker, Texas Ranger? I turned off the TV, put on the new U2, and passed out on my yoga mat next to Vito after a brief stare down contest. I woke up a few minutes later and played Star Wars sound effects on my iPhone, cracking up -- every single time -- at C-3P0's voice: "We're doomed!" Usually, it's Chewie who cracks me up. While on drugs, it's C-3P0 apparently.
It's a good thing that I have roots because I could so easily become a drug addict or a transient. I had an epiphany similar to Cameo's from the 1990s about the path of least resistance. One morning, Cam spotted a pretty rancid guy on the Red Line on her way into work. It was not yet 8 a.m. and the man was clearly wasted. He was talking to an equally rancid friend, his partner in crime (or in this case, his partner in stanking up the train.) The man smiled at his friend, patted his filthy front jacket pocket that contained a bottle of Captain Morgan's, and in a gravelly voice said: "El Captain! El Captain!"
"He just seemed so carefree," Cameo thought, sitting there stressed out in her nylons, heels and business suit, wanting to be dropped off anywhere but her corporate job. "Lead us not into South Station." This guy is onto something, she thought. The early morning grooming is exhausting enough, not to mention the workplace anxiety under 'the man.' It would be so much easier to just be dirty and drunk on the T all day without a care in the world.
On my "off" weeks, I already feel like Nick Nolte's mug shot (except bald.) I thought about Scary Mary, another AM drunk who used to hang out at the Wood Island T station. Whenever you walked by her, she may or may not have swung her plastic bag of dishtowels and limes at you and tell you to go fuck yourself. You just never knew if it was going to be you or the guy behind you. So I thought about putting some Roxicet in my front jacket pocket and heading down to the West Hingham Commuter Rail station -- and whatever happens happens. But then I sobered up. It's time to get off the junk.
Seven Songs of the Day -- 3/10/09
1. “The Underdog” Spoon (Love this song. It’s a good “fuck you” to any entity that thinks its indestructible)
2. “Hospital Food” David Gray
3. “Missed the Boat” Modest Mouse
4. “The Painter” Neil Young
5. “All for One” from High School Musical Cast (Olivia suggested this one)
6. “Take Me Out” Franz Ferdinand
--Courtesy of M. Draper