Leave Something for the Archaeologists
Tel el Amarna
2004-08-13
1:18 pm
Jane, Get Me Off This Crazy Thing...
So I'm lying there, face down, on the floor of the hospital bathroom, covered in vomit, the drugs moving rapidly through my blood. There's an IV in my arm, and a paramedic at my door... holding my rollerskates. As I stare at the gawdy, polka-dot hospital gown that I'm using as a makeshift pillow, I ask myself - when EXACTLY was it that my life started to go so... awry?
Certainly, it could not have been this particular beanie-baby-trafficking excursion. Except for a few misadventures, my stay in the flower state was more candied and less "Candide." I had a great time with all of my various friends and relations; my reconaissance mission on behalf of the "United Peoples' Front Against Living in New York" (UPFALINY) went off without a hitch; and, with the exception of one or two "Justine" moments - I had a really nice visit, and got to eat some proper grits.
So how did I end up writhing in pain, and throwing up more blood than an Olsen twin after a night on the town with Paris Hilton? And how the hell did I find myself all alone in Orlando, a "pregnant 28 year old female" with another name - with all of my belongings speeding through the night to New York City, having left me behind, and ironically arriving on time for once?
The answer: Well, it's not really a surprise that it all started with one BIG wrong decision. But days like this make me remember that even a LITTLE wrong decision can turn out feeling like you're stuck on "It's a Small World" for 10 hours... although to be honest it was a little more "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride."
Because you see, even after all of this time, I'm still ignoring my better instincts. Some primal part of me always knows what's going on, always knows the right course of action. And yet I still stupidly believe my spotlight consciousness, my "logical" self that tells me that lightning doesn't strike twice... when indeed it does. And all the while, my good and proper animal mind desperately tries to claw its way past the western philosophical brainwash solution that sloshes around in that magic 8 ball head of mine - and with fanged intuition warns "order the salad..."
So what's the lesson here then kiddies? Trust your hindbrain to protect you; trust the people who love you to drive 5 hours in the dead of night to bail you out of whatever trouble you've gotten yourself in THIS time; and trust that Murphy's Law... well, it can never be repealed...
