I'm a Drunk

I’ve been noticing that I’m acting more and more like a drunk. I think the realization came home just awhile ago when I was walking to the kitchen for another yogurt, swinging my spoon and my head in a very drunken manner and humming to myself. And it didn’t seem at all odd to me. Before that I’d patted an envelope that was on the table before remembering it was a Netflix envelope. “I probably shouldn’t have done that, there’s a DVD inside,” I mentioned to my Mom.
Then, “I’m here! I’m totally here!” I yelled. I remember yelling that to try to get the point across that I wasn’t drugged. Which, now, looking back, seems like a backwards idea. It won’t be long until I’m standing in front of the stove making peas and saying to an empty kitchen, “Peas are my favorite.” Yesterday my Mom wouldn’t let me carry a cake to and from my sister’s car because, as she told my sister, “You don’t want to let a drugged person carry your cake.” Thanks, Mom.

Here’s the thing. My liver isn’t doing what it’s supposed to right now. One of the things it’s not doing is it’s not filtering a chemical that goes straight to my brain. I was told this would make me feel “stupid”. I’m pretty sure they meant, “You are actually going to be stupid.” Add on to that severe fatigue, pain, and sometimes drugs and watchya got? Pretty much a drunk. My blogs may seem impressively well thought out, but that’s because my computer’s keyboard is the proud owner of a delete key and my word processing program is the proud owner of spell check. You ask any of my friends, particularly Gina, and they’ll tell you, “Yeah, Becca has some weird chemicals in her brain right now. She can’t answer my texts with any intelligence.”

I’ll tell you one such instance because it was later the subject of much laughter. Here is a series of texts sent between me and Gina a couple days ago:

Gina: Doing dishes, then gonna go to Wal-Mart and HyVee. Wanna come with?
Becca: No thanx. If I get some energy I need 2 clean a rat cage.
Gina: Would you like help?
Becca: I’ve just got the one I need to clean, so it shouldn’t b a problem. But thanx!
Gina: Are you sure? Wal-Mart is open 24/7
Becca: Do u really want me 2 go that badly? I mean I’ll go if u really want me 2.

Three minutes later I realized that Gina had been saying she could go to Wal-Mart any old time and she could come help me clean rat cages now. It’s like my Mom said before about having to give me specifics. I need a prologue to everything. And get this: that whole exchange happened when I was not on drugs. So did the hitting of the Netflix envelope and swinging of the yogurt spoon. When I say drugs I mean narcotics and the like. I am on a medication that keeps my blood pressure low, thus making me more tired, thus making me more…stupid. But still, I think it’s pretty impressive that I’m that spacey without any pill-shaped help. Impressive in a sad, pathetic kind of way.

To add to all that, I think my few days of feeling not-so-bad are coming to and end. Today hasn’t been good at all and I can only see it going down hill. My Mom says I’m yellow-er. All the same, I am determined to celebrate the fourth of July to the best of my (somewhat limited) ability! So be it if I start talking out loud to my turkey dog.