I'm off work this week, at least. My last morning there I turned on my new bluetooth speaker and, no joke, blared Korn's 'Faget' into the 7:00 AM government office atmosphere. I panicked and was unable to do anything but fumble around with the volume up button and made it ten-times louder.
"That's my jam," Jewish Guy said from the other aisle. Finally I managed to just turn the speaker off and it screamed "BLOODOODOOP" as a final fuck you to me before shutting down. I reached for my Pipeline Pink Monster and threw my head back to swallow 2 Vivarin caffeine pills so that I could experience the horror of the situation in full. My anti-depressant or possible the anti-psychotic make me lethargic as fuck, so I take caffeine to compensate. At night, I writhe around in unspeakable pain from the heartburn the caffeine has caused me until I'm knocked out by my Ambien, which occurrs less and less frequently as I've developed a tolerance for it over the years.
"Why do you take uppers and downers together like you're Elvis?" my mom had asked me once.
I ruminated over this question as I sat on the toilet one evening. I already looked like fat Elvis with my dyed black muttonchops. Would I die like him? On the toilet eating a ham sandwich? Or was that Cass Eliott? I frowned. I didn't want to die on my toilet at any rate. And certainly not with a pork product in hand.