06 October 2011 at 6:43 pm

I lied to my doctor. I wanted pills for the flight, since one of the many transatlantic flights I will be taking in these these next few months is economy. I asked for Valium, and he gave me Xanax. I’m learning how the pharmaceutical requests work: ask for more than you want, and they will give you the next level down. If I ask for Vicodin, they will give me extra-strength ibuprofen, which scares me because I don’t like the idea of what it’s doing to my liver. But Vicodin and Xanax, which change the brain chemistry, are okay I guess.

So I took a half a pill pre-flight, per the doctor’s orders, with a glass of wine, per my orders, to see how it would effect me. So far, there is fuzziness and a fatigue, but that could just be because I awoke early to make it to my laser hair removal appointment and had a shitty night’s sleep because I slept at Sam's, and hosting each other is something we do to, rather than for, each other.

“We’ve got to stop the retribution,” she said last night. I assured her the cycle would be broken when she next comes to visit me, that she will have her own room and an actual bed to sleep on.

“But no ceiling,” I said. I kid, I kid.

We talked about when we’re all going to have babies, how Sam and Erin will each have a gestation period from the sperm of their choice, how I wasn’t so interested in having kids until I started dating the boyfriend, and now my body’s like, “Hey there, about making babies, just so you know: we’re ready for ya!” I need a few years, body.

And if it doesn’t happen, there are so many other things to do.


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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.