Time goes by way too fast on NyQuil. It puts you in a whole other dimension.
I’m liking this way too much. Laying here in bed and watching movie’s all day.
I had to give two massages yesterday at the spa down the street and it wore me out. I fantasized about my bed and about NyQuil.
Ode to NyQuil
I shutter from a chill
I take a soft swallow
Of my NyQuil
Warmth envelopes my throat
It’s as if I’m floating on a boat
Down a green river of delight
Down into the emerald night, everything will be alright
The green river slithers down my esophageal
Filling me up as if a meal
It subsides in my insides thwarting instances of the flu
It presides in my insides turning my hue less blue
No more aches or fever bakes
No more cold toe’s, runny nose
Coughing, sleepless tossing
No more sneezing, breathless wheezing
It does what no pill can
I am a NyQuil fan
Grassy, sprouting, immature green
The color of youth, undecayed, tender, lean
You know what I mean
It’s the bee’s knee’s
I gave up on the poem at the end, a little.
I’m exhausted. I can’t tell if it’s from the 14 hours of sleep, or if I’m still legitimately sick. Let me brush my teeth. Maybe I’ll feel different after brushing my teeth.
I feel a little better, but not by much.
I guess now is a good time to write about my day four of Korea.
Sarah had to work unexpectedly, so it was just Kristina and I to venture off into the big Korean city all by ourselves for the day. I already wrote about that here.
That night we met Sarah’s little friend from Manchester, England, Rachel. Rachel is absolutely awesome and I’m very upset I hadn’t taken any pictures of her.
We went to this backwards restaurant for dinner. Here are pic’s from inside the restaurant.
That’s the way into the place.
A quiet, omniscient boy in a black hoodie served us. His hood was up the entire time. He served us two cooked birds on two big dishes. We each got a fork and a tissue napkin. We were to dig in and eat from the same plate.
It was rustic, and I liked it, except for this one mysterious bit of food that I shoved into my mouth and couldn’t swallow. Sarah lent me her tissue napkin so I could spit it out. Rachel told me I won a prize for finding the inedible portion of the meal.
We went to the Red Bottle.
They had the Wii.
Hoards of alcohol went down my gullet that night. When I reach a certain level of attention from the people in my immediate surrounding, mixed with a high dosage of alcohol, I start getting physically aggressive and my body wants to do weird spasmodic dances to keep the attention on me.
After beating everyone at arm wrestling (and telling them it’s not cheating if you throw your body into it), I started dancing. Not breakdancing at first, but just regular dancing. The more I danced, the more people paid attention to me. The girls bartending grabbed me by my hand and pulled me behind the bar. They fed me shots of jagermeister before turing me loose to dance some more.
It didn’t take long until I was on the floor spinning around. I was trying to get little English Rachel to spin on her back with me. I don’t recall if she actually did it or not.
I was breakdancing to Michael Jackson’s Beat It, and doing perverted things to a chair. Why do I always end up fondling a chair? I don’t know, I don’t remember. But it’s over and it’s done – I can close that book.
It was the alcohol. That and I didn’t get much attention when I was a kid, so naturally stuff like this happens to me.
I was teaching this meek Korean man how to do the tango.
That’s all the pic’s I have of day four. Now I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m too sick to go out, but not sick enough to lay in bed. I want to get snockered on NyQuil.
My Second Ode to NyQuil
You are my wife, my husband, my lover in sin
You shower me with kisses when you dribble down my chin
I hack up mucus, but you love me all the same
If you had ears and eyes, you would read my poems
and not think them lame
For you are my NyQuil
You are the bee’s knee’s