And It Wasn't Even My Birthday...

After taking 1/2 a vicodin earlier in the day and then another 1/2 when I got home from work, I still felt like someone had scraped my insides with a coat hanger. I took two Aleve before we left for the bar and reminded myself not to drink any alcohol when we got there. It was a slow Tuesday, mostly just regulars and two small groups of random people who danced to almost every song we sang. By the time everything I'd taken finally kicked in, I'd had two glasses of water, said very little to anyone and finally felt no pain. In fact, by that point, I felt nothing. Yesterday's decision to go back to hiding in the corner and not talking proved to be a force of nature rather than a choice as I was having difficulty focusing on any one thing all night. I hated being so scatter-brained but everytime I opened my mouth to say something, the words came out sloppy and felt foreign. At one point, I actually said to Lara, "I'm remembering you to drink more water" instead of what I meant to say, "I'm reminding you..." I had more than one person ask me how the water I'd been drinking all night was treating me and did I want a beer or something. When I responded with, "I can't...I took some Vicodin earlier and it wouldn't be a good idea," the looks I got made me a little uncomfortable and I wasn't in the mood to explain why I'd had to take the stupid pills in the first place. "Yeah, that's it," I thought, "I'm a Vicodin addict and I'm finally so cracked out that I'm just blurting it out....god, you people don't know me at all." In retrospect, I know that the questions were asked out of concern for my well-being and I'm just glad that I chose not to talk about it rather than vocalize my defensive thoughts.

Today, I'm better but not great. I'm sticking to Aleve for the next two days and if I'm good about remembering to take them before the previous ones wear off, I'll be fine by tomorrow. Tonight, I sing.