The art of life is the art of avoiding pain. – Thomas Jefferson
Though disgusted by my recent bout with sciatica, I’ve been really enjoying these narcotic pills I have, so good they’re addictive!
Within 5 minutes of taking my (unprescribed) medicine I feel a spreading joy radiating out from my stomach, as if my muscles were made of knotted diapers soaking up an exquisite, urine-like warmth. The feeling of ax blades chipping at nerves in my legs and hip dissolve, the pain muting into a midget mime tapping in helpless silence behind his invisible wall.
If I notice any part of my body while drugged I feel only pleasure, a total absence of pain. Compared to these painkillers marijuana’s high is too random, its euphoria waning quickly after the burning coughs.
I don’t know what I’m gonna do when the pills are all gone. 😦 Probably nothing. The sciatica is 90% gone anyway; last week the fickle demon completely left one leg for the other, where it hasn’t been nearly as bad.
I’m embarrassed to admit I figured out the cause of this recent pain. My Rockport work shoes are over a year old and look like they’ve stepped on IEDs. They provide no cushioning, unacceptable when you’re on your feet most of the day. I tried looking for new Rocks last week, where I usually buy them every 6 months. The rude assholes no longer had them. I must find new assholes to save my feet, legs and back. Anatomy.
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