Oh, I well remember a time when BIG took a post that I had sent and
quietly laid it to rest with Jimmy Hoffa at my request, never to be seen
again.
 
I no longer quite remember *why* I was so mad, or *who* I was so mad at,
but I was pretty much ranting and slavering into the keyboard.  You have
to appreciate that this was a day or two into a new medication that my
doctor had prescribed for me.  It was actually an anti-epileptic that I
had never been on at a dose that I had never been on befrore.  The result
was absolutely appalling.
 
Imagine this.  At some point in the day I read the FML, and become a nine
foot tall, bulletproof warrior- tower of rage.  I write several drafts of
a post that all pretty much begin "Listen up, you un-lettered, fatherless
consort of a mangy hyena infested with bot-fly larvae" in tone, if not in
actual wording.  I finally send one off to the FML.
 
Maybe only an hour later, very strange things start to happen.  I can't
drink my coffee because it tastes...wrong.  It tastes af if there is a
tablespoon of diesel fuel poured into it.  I try to eat lunch, but it
smells as if...well, I won't go into it, in detail, but it certainly
does not smell like something that people would eat.  Like something
that would get served at a restaurant for dogs, yes, but not for people.
(There simply is no appropriate wine to serve with roadkill, I don't
care what people say.)
 
I call my doctor and said "WHAT GIVES, BUDDY?!" in my new warrior-tower
voice.  He calmly (very calmly) explains that I have essentially
overdosed on the medication, even though I have taken it precisely as
prescribed.  These symptoms will wear off, probably overnight, just stop
taking the medication.  Call back tomorrow and let him know how I am
doing.
 
Well, good to know, good to know.  I am not losing my mind.  Sigh of
relief.
 
Have you ever had a glass of ice tea on a really hot day?  And the ice
cubes melt down to just a sliver, like a fingernail paring?  I had a wee
flash of insight, no more substantial than one of those ice cubes after
that conversation with my doctor , that maybe...just maybe...I wasn't
quite allright.  Maybe this just wasn't a good judgement day for me, the
way there are good hair days, and bad ones.  Maybe I was suffering from
chemically induced bad judgement.  Maybe when we are half-way down
Alice's rabbit hole with our asses in the air maybe we shouldn't be
e-mailing *anybody*.  And I had sent that post to the FML.Oh, the horror
of it...What had I done?
 
Well, still a nine foot tall and bulletproof warrior-tower (if a somewhat
subdued one), I go clanking in my armour and chainmail to the keyboard.
First I have to find a place to put down my broadsword and spiked mace on
a chain, it's difficult, but I manage, finally.  I write to BIG and ask
in my nicest warrior-tower voice if he would please SLAY AND LAY WASTE
(Whoops!  I'm being nice, being nice) to that last post I sent,
medication failure, bad things bad things bad things!
 
BIG, being much smarter than the average bear, says NOTHING in reply.
 
The offending post is never seen or heard from again.  He must have a
bathroom papered with 'em.
 
Alexandra in Massachusetts
Feeling much better, thank you.
[Posted in FML issue 4602]