1) We had left home two days before, but had hardly been anywhere outside of either the car or the hotel room. Scattered on the dresser was an assortment of pills -- prescription opioids of every description. They were dumped out like a kid's candy on Halloween night. It was a festival of numbness.
I had been awake for over 24 hours, but had been fully alert for almost none of them. I had recently discovered the joys of crushing and snorting Oxycontin -- the champagne of cheap prescription highs. I slowly surveyed the remaining drugs... morphine mostly, with a healthy mix of methadone and some other things... but I had been snorting. Nothing makes the buzz come faster than crushing and snorting an Oxy. Well... nothing that doesn't involve a needle, anyway.
This is perhaps the only matter that I will ever wholeheartedly agree with Rush Limbaugh on. Oxycontin is fucking great.
We were out of Oxys. I half-seriously considered waking (if in fact "asleep" applied in the normal sense) the naked beauty on the bed to see if we could get more. Normally contemplating the generous curve of her hips would have me thinking other things. And sure, there was still plenty of other junk left, but I know what I like. Besides, the feeling was starting to return to my extremities.. and what kind of a vacation is that?
But then I saw it. Ground into the carpet was one last Oxycontin, trampled in our rush to get back into the room with our drugs. I sat on the bed for a long time (or so it seemed -- everything takes a long time on a good Oxy buzz) contemplating my options. I didn't like what I was becoming. But the sensation... or perhaps the lack of it... was simply too good a time to neglect. I also contemplated my dignity, and whether or not I wanted illegal brain chemistry to be the driving force in my life.
Eventually, I got up and wobbled over to the crushed tablet. I stuck my nose down on the carpet. I smelled powder and carpet cleaner and sneakers and dirt. And I snorted as hard as I could, taking in every last speck of pill and carpet fibre I could inhale.
I ran to the bathroom and gagged, as often happens when one snorts these things. I would have vomited if there had been anything left in me, but it had been a long time since I had eaten. And then I wobbled to the bed and laid down, watching The Weather Network and drooling, unsure of where the remote control was, and unmotivated to look for it.
And for a little while, things were good again.
2) A recent report from the US Geological Survey indicates that The Arctic holds 90 billion barrels of untapped oil... enough to keep the world's appetite for it fuelled for three whole years, most of it in Canada! And Alberta's Oil Sands are loaded with oil, at a cost of only 80 kilos of greenhouse gases for every barrel produced!
Let the good times keep rolling!
I had been awake for over 24 hours, but had been fully alert for almost none of them. I had recently discovered the joys of crushing and snorting Oxycontin -- the champagne of cheap prescription highs. I slowly surveyed the remaining drugs... morphine mostly, with a healthy mix of methadone and some other things... but I had been snorting. Nothing makes the buzz come faster than crushing and snorting an Oxy. Well... nothing that doesn't involve a needle, anyway.
This is perhaps the only matter that I will ever wholeheartedly agree with Rush Limbaugh on. Oxycontin is fucking great.
We were out of Oxys. I half-seriously considered waking (if in fact "asleep" applied in the normal sense) the naked beauty on the bed to see if we could get more. Normally contemplating the generous curve of her hips would have me thinking other things. And sure, there was still plenty of other junk left, but I know what I like. Besides, the feeling was starting to return to my extremities.. and what kind of a vacation is that?
But then I saw it. Ground into the carpet was one last Oxycontin, trampled in our rush to get back into the room with our drugs. I sat on the bed for a long time (or so it seemed -- everything takes a long time on a good Oxy buzz) contemplating my options. I didn't like what I was becoming. But the sensation... or perhaps the lack of it... was simply too good a time to neglect. I also contemplated my dignity, and whether or not I wanted illegal brain chemistry to be the driving force in my life.
Eventually, I got up and wobbled over to the crushed tablet. I stuck my nose down on the carpet. I smelled powder and carpet cleaner and sneakers and dirt. And I snorted as hard as I could, taking in every last speck of pill and carpet fibre I could inhale.
I ran to the bathroom and gagged, as often happens when one snorts these things. I would have vomited if there had been anything left in me, but it had been a long time since I had eaten. And then I wobbled to the bed and laid down, watching The Weather Network and drooling, unsure of where the remote control was, and unmotivated to look for it.
And for a little while, things were good again.
2) A recent report from the US Geological Survey indicates that The Arctic holds 90 billion barrels of untapped oil... enough to keep the world's appetite for it fuelled for three whole years, most of it in Canada! And Alberta's Oil Sands are loaded with oil, at a cost of only 80 kilos of greenhouse gases for every barrel produced!
Let the good times keep rolling!
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