Saturday, March 04, 2006

Ignition

Well, well, well.

As a prelude I am posting something I wrote a few days ago but never quite had the concentration to post. Read that now and it might explain some of what this post is about...

So: what happened next?

More of the same, actually, more of the same faster. I continued with the lack of sleep, which was irritating and frustrating not because it made me tired (it didn't), but because I would have to lie in bed staring up at the dark before sneaking out to play Civilisation or surf the net for stuff.

And because a lot of the time I was easily frustrated and irritated.

Then get up six fortyish up to drive the niece to school, go to the gym, heal the sick (more on whom later), go to the gym again on the way back from work (unless it was judo night), then clean the house.

I should point out that a lot of what could get done with this glorious excess of energy I get does not get done. I get a bit distractible when high, and if I am working (I took a bit of time off, may be back this coming Wednesday, depending on professional advice, may not be) I tend to spend a lot of my energy rechecking things, or wasting time. I've put Florey on hold for the time being. The SMACHEAD job I could do with half a brain, but I spoke to my boss on Wednesday about taking time off and had a very light workload Thursday, and will hopefully be back there by next Wednesday, depending on advice received.

Anyway. About a week of increasing elation, culminating in last night's master-stroke: calling in "sick for the foreseeable" to Florey, suddenly ramping up the dose of valproate to full-strength (and for my next trick - buckling up my seatbelt as I drive through the red light...) and going out to meet my comic book geek friends for our usual few drinks down at the pub. Yepo, drinking and a dose adjustment in the same day - seemed like a good idea to me at the time.

Of course, lots of things seemed like a good idea at the time.

Anyway - the pub. The pub has the name of an imaginary equine creature, so in keeping with this theme I will call it the Completely Reasonable and Sensible Horse. I have yet to meet one of these, and many authorities beleive them to be mythical.

The comic book geek friends, by the by, are remarkably socially adept and pleasant company - a fact for which I was grateful later on.

Well, the pub didn't go well. Well, the pub went fine but the cumulative effect of inadequately medicated hypomania, five days of four-hours-a-night sleep, an indeterminate amount of wine and a potent psychotropic medication (they should put warnings on this stuff about mixing it with alcohol... hold on...) meant that the night, after a while, didn't go that well.

I think it started off okay, we read Ultimates and talked about feelings or something. Then I started to feel really weird, feelings that were not quashed by my usual one or two glasses of wine. Even when I started drinking the bottle of wine I had on me (I was intending to walk to a friend's house afterwards, and so I had the wine and I'd decanted it into a plastic ... oh, never mind, it made sense at the time) - that didn't seem to stop me feeling weird. In fact, I felt weirderer.

I will point out at this time it would easily be a year since I got more than slightly tipsy, and it would probably be five years since I got really drunk.

Tejhn it started. I started off with surprising and possible unwelcome confessions about my amatory past, intersposed with looking around for someone to fight. Then I think there was a brief, hopefully forgettable and ghastly to recall meandering monologue that touched upon the Incredible Hulk, my erotic ambitions, the sympathetic and honest way in which Mark Millar had written previously unlikeable characters such as Iron Man and Captain America, whether that dark-skinned girl over there was hot or not, the idea of the Godhead in Buddhism (Algernon's idea), smart brunettes and redheads, Nicky Winmar and racism in Australian football, girls with glasses and sexy hands, and whether following Fremantle Football Club amounted to an abusive relationship.

And there was talking fast and waving my hands and stuff, and remarkable insights, and all of my jokes were funny.

The night went on. For some reason I was lead out into the street by Chad and the increasingly alarmed Algernon. There had been some talk about kava, but even then I knew that that was a bad idea. I dissolved any remaining self-restraint in copious amounts of cabernet, drinking in the street, staring at street acrobats cavorting on the riverbank, and leering at frightened women. I started to feel a little bit like Fear and Loathing in Mordor. I told a wide-eyed girl in the dark that I liked her teeshirt.

Things deteriorated. Eventually I was led, almost incoherently drunk by my two comic book friends to another friends house, only stopping on the way to hug some other wandering, inebriated emergency doctor, who was also blundering around the streets.

What are the odds of that, by the way? is this how Ed doctors spend their time, or is it just the ones I know?

I will mercifully draw a curtain over the remaining events of the night. Suffice it to say that there is a question in the "Are you a pathetic piss-head" questionnaire, the one we have to use to determine if someone should be get their licence back, that asks about causing embarrassment to yourself or others while drunk. I'm going to be fairly unambiguous in my answer to that in future. Luckily, the friend whose house I went to is a pharmaceutical rep who has the anti-emetic (i.e.: anti-nausea) contract for half the Eastern seaboard. So I got a sample of a medication they usually only use to treat cancer patients (twenty two dollars a tablet, I ask you) and went to bed.

And here I am, sick and sore and with a head like a child's toy, typing this.

Anyway, I've noticed a tendency of mine to put morals at the end of some of these entries - this one's pretty obvious. Read the fucking label. Take your own advice. Remember you get sick too.

But I don't know. I don't know if any of it was cathartic or not - there's been a lot going on, but whatever was going on is still going on post getting drunk. I reckon that hypomania - and that's the first serious bit of it I've had for years - doesn't respond too well to medications you don't take, and I reckon valproate and promethazine (an anti-histamine I took to help me get some goddamn sleep) and shiraz cabernet is not going to become a standard treatment protocol for anything any time soon.

Having said that, no-one died. And given a few months I am sure one or two of my friends will start talking to me again. Perhaps.

Anyhow, work to do.

Thanks for listening.

John

14 Comments:

Blogger Tournee Du Chat Noir said...

"I will point out at this time it would easily be a year since I got more than slightly tipsy, and it would probably be five years since I got really drunk."

Apart from, say, the OTHER times you've gone a-geeking, or, say, the 27th January?! I am sure you were at least "more than slightly tipsy" at some of those - I distinctly remember they Rod Stewart Medley that tends to result on such occasions... But yes, I'll agree that this was a purple occasion... Now I can have all the cats I want!
Tournee, chortling...

10:48 PM  
Blogger Benedict 16th said...

damn rude of that Valpro to interact with your ethanol that way.
See you tommorow, when you should catch up with your god-daughter and others.

Benny

12:39 AM  
Anonymous Camilla said...

Wow.

That's about it, really.

2:50 AM  
Blogger Bronze John said...

Birthdays don't count. And slightly tipsy on your birthday isn't really drunk. And the medley of Rod Stewart songs is a vicious calumny. I never did it, I've never even heard of the guy, it never happened.

Especially "Sailing".

9:05 AM  
Blogger Chade said...

Have to agree, it was a purple night. I don't think I've ever quite experienced the like, except for maybe when I have done something similar myself.
And you are right, No One Died. Algernon and I took care of that for you. It's all okay now. You don't need to worry.

9:34 AM  
Blogger Bronze John said...

Chade, don't know about that.

To any who haven't picked up yet, this last and possibly next week isn't me at my best.

You know, if there's an extraterrestrial civilisation out there that powers its starships with self-rage, I reckon could make it as a fuel depot. The whole German-Jewish, lapsed fundamentalist, 'allegedly intelligent and educated man acting more stupid and ignorant than the people he locks away for this kind of shit' thing.

Without wishing to put too fine a point on things, I feel pretty damn low about things. A necessary prelude to fixing things, obviously.

See, self-pity and telling anonymous people my problems. Always a good sign.

Anyway - we'll see how things go. Onto the valproate, after a few weeks of which said extraterrestrials will be able to see me from space anyway.

Bugger.

John

10:16 AM  
Blogger Prom said...

Well it got away from you (your ability to control that hypo demon). Shit happens. Self loathing and rage really isn't neccessary to get back on track and fix things. In fact it just makes you feel filty and stressed.

Would you loath yourself if you were diabetic and miscalculated your insulin and had a seizure?

Quite wallowing and fix it, just get on with it.

12:49 PM  
Blogger Foilwoman said...

Hey, so you drank your way into a few new feline householders. Worse things have happened. I'm glad I only read the preceding post five minutes ago or I would have been worrying. I worry about people who never cause anyone embarrassment. But Sailing? If you start doing Feelings* or any of Barry Manilow's collected oevre, the meds need to go way, way up.

*See The Fabulous Baker Boys for the quintessential rendition of Feelings and a dramatic display of why it's dreck.

1:45 PM  
Blogger Chade said...

No need to worry, Doc. We've all been there before. It's just a part of what makes us human. Don't beat yourself up about it.
Just after my recent breakup, and on Australia Day, I drank so much that I apparently died and came back from the dead hungry for human flesh. Thankfully I slept it off and felt fine the next day, but I did have a witch-hunt after me complete with pitchforks. Go figure.
Sometimes, with all the best intentions life just gets a little away from you. All you can do is stand up, take a bow, and inform the world that the next show begins tomorrow with a brand new script.

2:56 PM  
Anonymous Danny said...

Sorry I wasn't there Doc. However we've all been there, done that. Your wig out lasted an evening, mine lasted a few months. Your real pals - and that's all of us, Chade, Algernon and us, are there for you no matter what. Doc, you could show me the severed head of a person and tell me you just did it and I'd not think any less of you. I might watch my back a bit more though...

We'll catch up mid-week if you want, have a quiet wine and whine at The Bath and see if we can't beat your problems outta ya.

5:14 PM  
Anonymous Camilla said...

Sometimes, with all the best intentions life just gets a little away from you. All you can do is stand up, take a bow, and inform the world that the next show begins tomorrow with a brand new script.


Wise words and true, Chade.

BJ, you'd have to do an awful lot before you slipped even a single notch in my regard - what you described in your post doesn't even come close. Besides, you've seen far too many of my silly moments for me to start being judgemental. How many "He-whose-name-shall-not-be-mentioneds" have you watched me make a fool of myself over, for a start? And don't forget, there was that time I asked you to look after my drink and then helpfully poured it into your pocket so, you know, you wouldn't have to bother holding the glass or anything.

*Huge hogs* to you from way over here.

2:36 AM  
Blogger Foilwoman said...

I've got to say, everyone in Oz seems to have much more interesting (and fun, at least to recount) personal meltdowns than we do here in the Most Power City (*snort* -- unfortunately sarcasm tags not available, so I have to telegraph my scorn at my city of residence's overweening self-regard) in the World. Here, people just get really, really boring and going on about how unfair it all is.

And I hope Camilla's huge hogs arrive safe and sound from wherever she's shipping them.

1:45 PM  
Anonymous Camilla said...

Foilwoman: The Netherlands ;)

Oink, snort! :D

4:33 PM  
Blogger Foilwoman said...

I'd sent BJ a hug or a hog too, except with his reticence and good taste, he would probably recoil in horror. Oh well, I'll send a hug anyway. And another hug to TduCN, because, hey, she was the cuddliest intern, wasn't she?

6:28 AM  

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