11.May.2003

drifting in and out, just linger

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slow motion

Day 3 of nicotineless insanity, although I did, and loathe am I to admit this, light a Marlboro Blend No. 27 and steal 3 drags from it sometime earlier this morning.

I have officially fallen in love with NyQuil. There is really nothing I adore more than the transient, out-of-body experience that accompanies the soft, limpid tide into the subconscious. I have not slept this tranquilly in a decade. NyQuil, you have stolen my heart and suspended it in the most glorious of REMs.

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I don't know why, but I didn't tell you that I've finally visited the reproductive endocrinologist, and I have an onslaught of blood-work tomorrow morning, beginning at 8am with the 17-alpha hydroxyprogesterone, and ending sometime around 11 with the oral glucose tolerance test. You can tell by looking at my skin there's an insulin deficiency, otherwise known as a mild case of acanthosis. Why I am overwhelmingly thrilled about this points belligerently to the pulsating fact I'm this close to being fixed.

As soon as I surmount the chest thrax, the first place I am going to is my brother's apartment, namely to utilize fiercely the gym, then to pick up my paper-work for the Baptist Hospital job I so devilishly seek.

I'm happy. It's Mother's Day, and there's a jaw-clenching episode of Six Feet Under on tonight.

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time & machine