A cold that I brought back from Europe resulted this week in a cough nasty enough to remind me of the incessant hacking, phlegm-ing and general mucous-ness of a smoker I once had the misfortune to sit across from. Yech.
But in the “better living through chemistry” department: my doctor gave me a prescription to retard the near disgorging of my lungs through my throat: a codeine-laced “cough syrup.” Man, when you pick up this stuff at the pharmacy, they look at you like you’re some time-machined refugee from an 18th century opium den. I couldn’t figure out why until I took one tiny little teaspoon full.
Maybe I am just easily intoxicated. But this stuff not only stopped my urge to cough, it took me off the planet. To a planet where nobody coughs, nobody speaks and nobody can hear the colors in your mind.
People who know me know I’m not a big drinker and drugs never appealed to me. So maybe it’s just low tolerance, but as soon as I finish this post (delayed for hours by hacking my brains out) there’s a spoonful calling me.