Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   unwanted diphenhydramine
Sunday, November 15 2020
It was cool and clammy morning, so I started a fire early. And Gretchen got up early enough for us to play the New York Times Spelling Bee before she headed to work. (The panagram was "legalized," with "z" in the middle, which I found shortly before Gretchen had to go.)
It was my second day of caffeine abstinenance, so I drank kratom tea instead, which gave me that mildly euphoric feeling it gives when in caffeine withdrawal. I went to salvage a smallish backpack of disappointingly-moist wood from a staging pile west of the farm road, and by the time I returned my head was pounding from a caffeine-withdrawal headache. So I took what I thought was acetaminophen. But then I checked the label and saw that, along with the 1000 mg of acetaminophen was 50 mg of diphenhydramine. There was nothing I could do about it; I'd already swallowed the pills and it was just a matter of time before I'd be getting very sleepy. I don't know why all over-the-counter medicines can't be simple, pure, one-chemical medicines that people can decide to combine or not combine on their own; when I'd purchased this bottle of store-brand acetaminophen, the largest letters on it had been "ACETAMINOPHEN," the "diphenhyramine" had been in tiny print. How is an older person with bad eyes going to see that? It turns out I'd also bought a bottle of ibuprofen with the same damn problem. I'll have to use them as sleep aids until they're gone, because otherwise they're useless. I rarely have an occasion to need a mixture of both a painkiller and a sleep aid.
While waiting for my inevitable sleepiness, I downloaded and watched a made-for-teevee documentary called The Lost Women of NXIVM, which focused on the women who usually became pregnant and then either died of cancer or mysteriously committed suicide (one of them, famously, at a monastery in Woodstock at around the time we moved to the area). The documentary had a trashy, sensational, manipulative vibe, like it was one part Ghost Hunters to two parts Nancy Grace. But it was entertaining to watch as the diphenhydramine shut down my brain. I also tried to drink some alcohol, but the citalopram in my system made it seem like poison (something I've experienced before). Eventually I took a nap and slept until darkness. After awaking, I wasn't good for much and, after working some on a commissioned painting of an elephant, climbed back into bed. My head was pounding from caffeine withdrawal again.


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http://asecular.com/blog.php?201115

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