Peace, Man.

So I spent the whole day Wednesday on a guifinesen high. This occurs when you take one too many Mucinex pills and follow that every several hours with a chaser of cough syrup meant to be taken once every 12 hours. Now, I can hold my cough medicine. There is very little that can take me down, but people, I was flying. I asked a colleague, “Do I seem different to you?” And she responded, ” hmmm, a little quieter, maybe….” I guess I had enough sense left to know that it was better to be quiet and focus, rather than spinning around in my office chair, yelling, ” I LOOOOOVE YOU GUYZZZZZ…” At some point, I must have eaten lunch, because I was covered in lettuce bits. I do remember taking a walk on my break and trying so hard to walk normally, fearing I looked like an old drunk. I finally decided I was rocking the stoned, hippy vibe and smiled placidly at everyone and everything. Somehow, I got through the day, navigated public transit and the drug store and was yards from the safety of home when my uber-cool purple Doc Maartens got caught in a crack in the sidewalk and I went flying, ripping a hole in my jeans and skinning my knee. As I hoisted myself up and stood there, straightening myself up and brushing stray lettuce out of my cleavage, it occurred to me how often the universe will give us exactly what we ask for. I wanted to feel young again. And there I was, skinned knees, ripped jeans, still wearing the detritus of lunch, lower lip quivering, determined not to cry until I was home. I had become a giant toddler. The lesson here is, be very specific when you wish on a star. Somebody is listening.