Feast your eyes, fine friends on a feat of fancy fun rarely found so freely. You know the score: you and a collection of chipper chaps collude chatting around crackers and cocktails, two or three tipples toasted and T.S. Eliot might term your turns of phrases tangled. But fun is fun and all is well. The night is young and the evening is loose. Your legs begin to bob a bit; you brashly bounce into a brother's Barcalounger to buffer the building brace brought on by belts of Bushmills. You gaze up, happy, and just a bit glassy, hazed in, but harmless, your arms loving armrests. Your head's filled with drivel, your brain's on a swivel, and nothing's much worse but occasional sniffles. But wait, far off in a tunnel of liquid, you just can make out maybe morse code, or mynah birds--no, it's now clearing up, chiming now not clouded, clearly it's coming from within your pocket. You fumble to find your phone, fingers fleshy and feckless, but finally manage to fish it out. It's her, the one, the only you care for, finding herself one auto short of transportation. "But, baby," you mumble. "Bushmills and Blue Moon. There's boxes of buffalo wings, and, by the way, Ballantines." So that's how it ends, eh? She stranded, you swooning. Honorable, yes but unhelpful and humdrum. Who else will she call, while you're clinging to a companion's carpet?
Well, worry no more, my fun-loving friends, for here sits a solution: Brain drunk. That's right, brain drunk. Quell your quotidian queries! I will quote quickly the equation. You'll get all of the fuzz and none of the fuss, all the sensation with no inebriation, swivel and sway but still drive all day. Just follow these simple steps:
1. Have a psychiatrist prescribe a daily dose of anti-depressant. (any will probably do, I've done it with Cymbalta and Effexor, but I'm sure they all do something)
2. Take said prescription for at least two-three months. (Personally, I go at least eigtht, but it all depends on you. Generally, the longer you take it the more you feel it.)
3. Stop taking it. (I recommend tapering the dose gradually if you still want to be a semi-productive member of society, but if you're really in the mood to be bonkers, just cut it off right away.)
That's all there is to it! Sooner than later, you'll be sitting soaking up some sitcoms when suddenly you start to swivel. You haven't had a drop, and your senses are still singularly sharp. It might be eight in the morning, it might be three in the morning; you might be in the shower, you might be at the office. There's no boundaries with this beauty. Wherever you go, whenever you're there, you can still feel just less than completely impaired. Shopping with the missus? No need to focus! Temp work from home? It doesn't take much mind in the first place! Just trying to make it through the day? A happy little fog won't hurt you. Live in the present, it's a gift to yourself.
What's that you say? Sounds expensive? Well that's where you're wrong, my wonderful worrywarts! Our fine, federal funders have furnished a financial fix. Just get laid off, there's nothing to it! Show up sniveling at the county facility, prattling about problems and impossible payments. The prescription is free, for those who can't pay! Six months or so later and you'll be on your way to swooning and swaying your way through the day. No need to drink a drop again, there's no starting or stopping it--this is you till the end.
Archiving all of these memories
1 year ago