One more time, I'm using a whole lyric as a title: this one's R.E.M. - I hope I don't get sued for stealing all these lyrics...
I think I hit an all-time low last night... I mean, before nearly accidentally overdosing on Motrin and non-aspirin, it all started to go downhill.
It had been a pretty good evening. Mike and I went out to get some beef jerky at Wal-mart, found that they only had this sucky kind that tastes like sugar, and began a trek around town looking for The Good Kind. We made fun of the employees at Target for being robot-like. We played soccer with a grape I found on the floor of Albertson's until I accidentally smushed it. We considered for ten seconds driving to Albuquerque for one damn package of beef jerky from 7-11. It was a pretty good evening. I was a little over-hyper and about as far from any sort of sadness as anyone could imagine.
We went back to the dorms, equipped with a huge bag of beef jerky (The Good Kind). I'd taken several Motrins earlier to combat some really nasty cramps, but the pain began coming back, so I took a couple of non-aspirins. I went to my room and the depression hit. I haven't any idea why. Maybe it was the pills - who the fuck knows what Motrin will do to you if used incorrectly...? I got online, realized that Adrienne is still missing-in-action, signed off, called Peter, realized he was home and not answering his phone, hung up, and turned on the radio, which was playing some bluesy, wannabe-rock crap by a rap artist. Go figure. If the radio had been playing something good, like Offspring or maybe something from the '80's, or even Garbage or Cake or something, all would have been fine.
I wanted a cigarette. I wanted a cigarette bad. Just something to stick in my mouth and suck on - just about anything would have done... Well... no, that didn't sound right... You know what I mean... So I glanced around my room. Three empty packs lay on my desk. Four smoked-to-the-filter butts lay in my ashtray. I went to the lounge. There, in the ashtray, lay half a cigarette - an American Spirit, for the love of gahd... But I was desperate. I smoked that butt. It belonged to the girl at the end of the hall - she smokes American Spirits. But I doubted she'd come back for it... I think that was my lowest point: stealing a cigarette butt out of an ashtray. Gahd. Ugh.
Back in Mike's room, I started feeling really icky... Lightheaded and stomach-achey. My fingers were a little numb - not quite numb, but a little detached from my body. Realizing it was probably the numerous painkillers I'd taken that day, I went to my room, emailed Peter, Jeff, and Jayden, telling them I'd taken too many pills and - well, I don't know what else I said. But they all flipped out. Peter called at 9 this morning and Jayden flipped out on me when I turned the computer on... Jeff had sent me a scared-out-of-his-mind email. Gahd, I felt really bad. It really was a complete accident. I was feeling pretty low last night, but the thing with the pills WAS AN ACCIDENT!
Sigh... I hope today is better. I hope I can make it to the shower without taking anything for this pain. I hope I can make it to breakfast and keep everything down. Like I said in an earlier entry, womanhood is more than a bitch, no pun intended. Maybe I'll just sit around all day chopping up magazines and writing letters... And, of course, listening to Portishead or R.E.M. just to cheer myself up...
Love,
Helena*
"Sometimes I wanna take you down. Sometimes I wanna get you low. Brush your hair back from your eyes. Take you down let the river flow..." --Cracker, "Low."