My genetic lineage has perhaps an over-abundance of maladies. In my dotage I can look forward to: coronary problems, diabetes, obesity, cataracts, cancers of various digestive organs, or probably some combination of all of the above. Despite this delightful disposition of diseases I am likely to be long-lived; probably surviving – despite the apparent odds – into my eighties.
That’s all for the future. What bothers me now are the multifarious incidences of sinus trouble I confront daily. On occasion, when it gets to the point where breathing became less a necessity than a trial and my melon feels like the packed powder bags in a 16-inch gun I could always count on a certain medicine to sort things out. This isn’t the sort of drug I like to take on a regular basis but it works well in a pinch. No more.
It seems that after a few days of consuming and accumulating a level of this wonder-pellet in my system it shifts gears and does rude things to my psyche even as it soothes my sniffer. Instead of the blissfully long snooze I so desperately needed this weekend I was subjected to bouts of paranoia, nightmarish dreams and morning vertigo.
So much for that experiment in self-medication. If I wanted to feel that weird there are far more interesting ways of achieving such a state.
Incidentally, I am coming to the conclusion that God is conspiring against me: He doesn’t want me to sleep. To what end, I don’t know, but I suspect I’ll find out.