Chrisonomicon

Wednesday, January 10, 2001

I've been fighting off a cold for the past couple of days. On top of that, this is the last week of my winter class so I've been studying for the final that is this Friday. Sickness and finals do not make a very good mix.

For the sore throat I've had, the doctor prescribed me some darvoset, a mild narcotic-slash-muscle-relaxant. Honestly, the damn stuff doesn't do anything but put me to sleep. I pop the hot-pink pills and about half-an-hour later, a liquid, red warmth spreads from my hands and my mouth to the rest of my body.

I can see the appeal narcotics have. You lie there and everything is perfect. Not one part of your body is uncomfortable. You feel warm and dry (even though you may be sweating). Your breathing is slow and relaxed. It's almost like being in that well-rested state after a long night's sleep.

Unfortunately (or not) I just couldn't find a way to become addicted to narcotics. I have a very non-addictive personality. I usually stop drinking alcohol after to or three beers. Heck, even shopping gets boring after eight or nine hours. It's said that addiction is partially genetic and there's been addiction in my family. I seem to have been fortunate enough to escape from that genetic cage.

In some ways, however, an addiction is the ultimate romantic notion, to put everything on the line for that next fix, devoting your entire existence to one thing.