Sickness causes Hallucinations

            Yes, yes, I know I missed last week’s blog and I’m sorry about that. Well, not really, I’ve been busy and sick. As a matter of fact, as I sit here and pound the keys to my computer into submission, I’m still sick. The past five days have been lived in a fuge state filled with drug induced hallucinations of black golf carts flying overhead laden with spy cameras, sniper microphones and infrared mind readers. All with the sole purpose of keeping the middle class middle and the lower class lower while the higher class gets higher. (Maybe I shouldn’t mix my FDA controlled pain meds with over the counter cold and flu meds. But that’s a blog for another day.)

            So last Thursday night I’m sitting in an oversized pickup truck that gets about 0.3 miles to the gallon with a buddy of mine whom had asked for my assistance in moving some stuff. The cab was overheated, the outside temperature was in the low 40’s and on the radio was some sort of bullshit, cockamamie excuse for music that was making the headache I’d been fighting all day just grow into a large thunderstorm of oncoming pain. Basically I felt like the south end of a north bound dog that’d just left the “Acme Mad-Cow Meat Packing Plant” and leaving a trail of disgusting brown and red bodily fluids that even inspector Clouseau would be able to follow and eventually deduce the inevitable outcome the evidence points to.

            I tried to make small talk, but small talk with my buddy usually begins with the beratement of any and all individuals who want any type of gun control in this country and ends up just this side of fascism where the government instead of handing out bread in bread lines is handing out guns and ammunition to the starving masses. I tried to keep the conversations topics light and airy. I succeeded. We managed to not talk about politics, the rich, the poor, the working class and we even steered clear of alien abduction and the impact of Elvis impersonators on the economic development of Las Vegas in the early 1990’s and its gentrification impact for the masses in the form of family entertainment instead of the sleazy entertainment the city was once known for.

            Nope, we spoke only of family and family issues. We spoke of work and the troubles we’ve been having. Mostly it was just nonsense talk between two people who were venting the stress and worries of daily life in a manner that befits our stations in life. Also, you guys really don’t want to read what we spoke of. We just drove across town, had idle chit chat and upon our arrival at our destination, we got out and went to work. Efficiently and quickly we opened the bed of the truck, and in two trips filled the bed whilst ignoring the audible protests from our respective joints. All while the owner of the furniture stood in the dark, holding a cell phone up with the flashlight application on telling us to be careful not to trip over this log or that rock and beware of this hole and that dog. I bit my tongue in an attempt to not piss this guy off since he is related to my buddy. I just worked. It’s all I could do.

            We transported the furniture to its final destination. Placed it and left. That’s when my buddy offered dinner. I was hungry, felt like crap and definitely needed some reprieve from my life. I agreed. We found a semi-quiet pizza joint, sat outside in a tent with a natural gas heater blasting away the cold air like Bill Mahr blasting away at Regonomics. We were surrounded by young twenty-something hipsters smoking clove cigarettes, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon beer from pitchers and cans while discussing their college courses and the types of careers they looked forward to getting into once they graduated. We tried to ignore them. We sort of succeeded. Which means we didn’t get into a fight with any of these neophytes of life who are going to school on mommy and daddies dime while at the same time being disgusted with the way their parents make money and try to provide a better future for their progeny, fucking hypocrites. It was a true test of will.

            Instead, we ate over spicy pizza, drank warm beverages and spoke more of our lives and struggles. All the while, my head was swimming, my body was running between sweating and freezing and my stomach was churning with each bite I took of the food. When we left, the place had nearly emptied out. I’d like to say that my buddy and my indifference paired with my constant smoking of my cigar made them leave. But that would be a bit arrogant of me now wouldn’t it?

            We climbed back into the beast of a truck and headed down the road. After three blocks travel I was demanding my buddy to pull over. He did. I got out and quickly and calmly vomited up the food and drink I’d just tried to digest. I threw up all over the hipster sidewalk, garbage can, and some sort of hybrid car that I’m sure would fit in the bed of the truck I’d just jumped out of. A few minutes later, after wiping my face and boots off, I climbed back into the truck and expressed my sorrow for the street cleaner in the morning but not the hipster who now had a new bodily fluid paint job on his car.

            This was just the beginning of my travel down the road to my illness. I know a bit disgusting and outrageous but true none the less. This is the reason I’ve not been writing. I just haven’t been able to dig deep into myself and pull out the gooey cancerous thoughts that normally float around inside my Polish head. After all, it’s hard to keep your thoughts straight when you are making aluminum foil hats to wear in order to prevent the government controlled black golf carts from reading your mind.

            Have a great week and I hope to be able to write more later.