In the wake of emotional turmoil, physical pain, and my poor living habits, I've had more than enough insomnia recently. I’ve decided to resort to sleep aids in an attempt to resolve the my sleeplessness. Unwilling to deal with doctors and prescriptions, my winning self-prescribed combination has become alcohol and Tylenol PM. Yesterday, I had a visit from an ex-girlfriend, Carrie, who I once believed I would marry. She hurt me grievously last fall.
The visit was short and painful, involving an exchange of possessions and a few quick words. Her cousin waited outside in in the car, and she handed me a letter, calling it a “peace offering.” Reading the tritisms and platitudes that were all she could muster, reading the “I hope things work out for you,” and the “Someday I would like to salvage our friendship,” brought back all of the inconsiderate injuries she’d inflicted on me.
I went out to dinner with friends. I spent most of it staring at the lighting fixtures. Felix told me he was worried about me. I blushed.
I bought a bottle of champagne, went home, and drank it from a mug while watching an awful British movie. I gulped the drink, tried to interpret the cockney accents, and fumed. I took two Tylenol PM and turned on "Meet the Press" to disctract me. It worked. I woke up thirteen hours later feeling dry-mouthed and lightheaded. I was dizzy with grogginess when I woke up. I know enough about my body’s reaction to alcohol to know that the Tylenol was responsible for most of my lethargy. That stuff should be prescription-only, but I’ not complaining.
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