Today’s entry is being brought to you by NyQuil!
NyQuil! When your garden-variety coma just won’t do!
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Yes, I am in a NyQuil haze. It started yesterday morning. I awoke with a scratchy throat, which I initially thought was due to voracious snoring, but as the day went on and I was finding it increasingly harder to breathe in addition to feeling achy all over, I knew I was fucked. I still went to the gym and had a two-hour plus workout last night, but I figured I should squeeze one in before I descended into La La Land.
So a word or two about DayQuil: the fuck? It claims to be non-drowsy and great for daytime use, but it appears that means “mild coma� instead of “severe coma.� I popped a couple last night while I was writing my ode to Christmas and nearly passed out at my desk. Took a couple more this morning and found myself dozing around lunch. It was a particularly interesting exercise to drive over to Campbell’s this afternoon so I could take up residence on the Death Couch. Non-drowsy my ass. I’m quite sure I woke up with a beard.
Anyway. Writing about NyQuil is lame, because not only do we all know what the deal is with the stuff, but Denis Leary did it so much better in the 90s. This is my way of saying, “Fuck, I have to take the day off and ride the couch, and I can’t even enjoy crappy TV because I’m sliding in and out of consciousness.� And, “Goddammit, I hate taking a day off when I’m under deadline with a ton of stuff.� Also, “I hate writing weak blog updates.�
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