Codeine stream of unconsciousness

Sniffle.  Sniffle.  Cough cough.  Sigh. 

Ah codeine cough medicine.  There was a request from my wonderful cousin Jaron that I write a blog while high on cough medicine.  Um, okay.  I have nothing better to do.  Children are at the dreaded x’s house and I haven’t changed out of my jammies in a day in a half so really, no pressing engagements.  I need to shower at some point.  Luckily I can’t breathe through my nose so who really cares if I shower if I am the only one here.  Henry the cat could care less.  Personally, I think he has enjoyed having me home the past two days.  When I fall asleep I tend to become his couch.  He’s getting heavy too…

I would love to know what his meows mean.  I mean, I have a feeling I know what some of them mean because there is some serious attitude behind them, but it would be cool to have an animal translator. 

Alone and sick.  No one to smell me and no one to bring me soup. (pro and con) I would sell my soul for some chicken soup right now.  (Yes, this is my passive aggressive way for me to get some soup delivered to my house today by someone who is reading this and lives in LA.)  I actually tried to sell my soul to the devil once to become a famous actress but to no avail.  I found a crossroads (actually it was at the corner of Fountain and Highland) and told the devil that if he or she did exist, I would love to sell my soul to become famous.  I stood there for awhile.  Nothin.  So, now I am convinced there is no devil which means there is no hell which means there is no heaven and yet oddly enough, I still think there is a god.  I think she likes me too or at least appreciates me.  After all, my soon to be forty-four year old breasts still face north and that is all I need to believe.  Well, that and the idea of how cool my children are.  Max has been doing his best to make me feel better.  Nothing cuter than an eight year old who keeps handing you Kleenex and feeling your forehead. 

Why are tonsils there anyway?  Do we actually need them?  And what is a spleen for?  And why does it always seem like it is the first thing to be taken out on hospital dramas?

I am in a very reflective mood as of late (and not solely due to the codeine cough medicine) as  I have been teaching an over-view of existentialism all week to my 10^th graders because we start The Stranger by Camus on Monday; and if you have never read The Stranger you should totally read it.  Super awesome book.  Well, it did win the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature so yep, it is that good.  Plus The Cure wrote this really cool song called Killing an Arab that people thought was about killing middle-easterners but was really about The Stranger.  Apparently, most people hadn’t read the book and the record was yanked off of the air.  Yes, this was so long ago it was actually a record and not a CD or a download. Absurd any way you look at it.

Why are Pink Lady Apples so much better than Red Delicious?  Baked apples…mmmm…

Most things about my life seem to fall under the heading of absurd.  My career, the men in my life, my upper respiratory virus, and of course my blog.  But the absurd blog is the fun part.  It’s the only way I can vent lately.  If I keep the sarcastic rants flowing I tend to feel much better.  So now, today, we will have a codeine-infused sarcastic rant.  Seriously, I should have posted a warning at the top…oh wait, I did.  Never mind. 

What is the difference between an upper respiratory infection and a lower respiratory infection anyway?  Is one better or worse?

I can rarely take drugs such as these.  Most narcotics make me hurl.  Vicodin, Percocet, and Codeine on its own are just icky and horrible.  Which I guess is good so I could never become addicted to them.  I will stick to the shoe addiction and leave it at that.  But codeine cough medicine seems to work just fine and not make me hurl just make me apathetic and then sleepy and then less cough-y.  Yes, that is now an adjective. 

When I was in labor with Max I had written on my birth plan (ya know, that thing you spend a month writing because you want your baby’s birth to be a certain, specific and perfect way and it goes out the window the minute you arrive at the hospital and realize that even though your water broke you are still at one centimeter and have to go on pitocin anyway) that I could not take narcotics. I had told the doctor, the nurse and the anesthesiologist so of course when the epidural went in after I got to five centimeters and couldn’t breathe through the contractions anymore; of course they put narcotics in the epidural.  Why they would actually listen to the person in labor…anyway…long story short, they were able to take out the narcotics and leave the block.  They also shut the whole thing off when I got to ten centimeters so I was able to feel everything at the end.  Which although my birth experiences were absolutely the most amazing of experiences, the Johnny Cash song Ring of Fire was totally stuck in my head while I pushed my boys out.  Okay, it's now stuck in my head again.  Good song.

Why do gummy bears taste so damn yummy?  They are like squishy pieces of heaven.  If anyone drops off soup to me, could you bring some gummy bears too please? 

So I am getting a bit woozy and there is a couch with my name on it.  Mmm…couch…sleep….good….

I have the most wicked dreams on codeine.  Very symbolic, very graphic, some a bit violent and I did wake myself up screaming last night but that was because I dreamt there was an earthquake and the floor of my house had a big chasm in it and the couch I was on flew across the room with me on it.  But hey, I also had one about finding a room full of clothing just for me.  Bikinis that had feathers, Prada dresses with matching shoes, and suede pants that fit perfectly.  They made my ass look good, so I knew it was a dream.  Dash told me my booty looked squishy today.  I told him that’s what happens when booties get older.  I think I may have scared him with that.  He spent the rest of the morning trying to look at his own super cute booty. 

Why is it a murder of crows, a congress of baboons, a pride of lions but just a group of humans?  We seem to have a self-esteem issue when it comes to anthropomorphic collective nouns.

So, Cousin Jaron, I hope you enjoyed this.  If you weren’t up in San Francisco and were less than an eight hour drive from me, I would suggest you bring me soup.