Sourcery 101

Coming down off a nearly lethal combination of stimulants, alcohol, opiates, and benzos is HARD, I wish it on no one. Think of the worst flu you have ever had then multiply it by 10, this is what I felt like. The constant, perfuse sweating, the vomiting, dizzy spells, and dreadful lucid nightmares coupled by Spud’s Sasquatch level of snoring made restful sleep unattainable. The first 3 days are a total blur, it was hard to tell when I was dreaming and when I was awake. I remember having a dream where I was playing in a football game and Dave Chapelle (dressed as Rick James) was my quarterback. I ran a route and got open in the endzone and he threw me what should have been a touchdown pass. But instead of catching a football I caught a loaf of bread; thereby negating the touchdown and costing us the victory. Dave and I then got into a heated argument because I had specifically told him before the game started that the bread was for eating, not for throwing. My psychology professor at ASU said he feels all dreams have deep meaning. I disagree. It was not until day 4 that I had the energy to venture out the dark cave that had become my room. As I moved through corridors with the dexterity of a toddler, I heard someone behind me say “what are you in for?” I felt like saying “MURDER, so back off!” But I decided being an ass was probably not wise in this situation and knew he was just asking what my DOC (drug of choice) was. “Anything that makes me forget I exist” I muttered, in what the probably most honest thing I had said in months. You know “that guy” at work that you won’t invite to your parties because you know there is a solid chance no one else will show up? Well I got stuck talking to “that guy” for the better part of an hour. It blew me away at how skilled he was at not letting the other person talk. He reminded me of Gary Busey but less fun-crazy, and more crazy-crazy. I had to flag down a nurse as she walked by and ask for some Tylenol to slide away from this conversation to nowhere. Although it was originally just an excuse, the 2 cylindrical capsules became a welcome sight as the guy’s incessant babbling about his ex-wife had given me an actual headache. I just wanted to yell out, “I can’t even believe she married you in the first place bro!” The woman must have either been a saint or more in need of an “establishment” like this than he was. The common area had a window with a scenic view of a of cinderblock wall that was only about 12 inches from the bars that encased the plexiglass. They had a TV, but no remote to surf the 4 accessible channels. There was a deck of 41 playing cards, a set of markers old enough to have animated Steamboat Willy, and a checkers board that had been ripped in half by someone that apparently didn’t like to lose. The circa 1972 orange and beige couch looked as if someone had gotten a lap dance and “made it rain” Monopoly money. I found a Hot Wheels car in a seat cushion that looked as if someone had been chewing on it. It also appeared as if Captain Hook was after that pesky crocodile again and had just fired a canon loaded with puzzle pieces all over the floor. The digital clock would only flash12:00 as if I had discovered the only place on Earth where time stood still. Now that I had reclaimed my ability to walk, I desperately needed out of here. The sheer tedium, lack of motivation, and complete apathy that seemed to permeate from the walls of this wretched place had brought me to a breaking point. The thought of playing another game of Clue against the creepy guy with a third eye tattooed on his forehead was enough to make me cry. Professor Plum approaching me with a raised candlestick in his hand would have been a welcomed sight at this point. As much as I appreciated the endless supply of Saltines and my free pair of grippy socks, I was done with detox.