Boy, that title makes me sound like a real winner. But the story is even better. Or maybe, so I think. Grab some popcorn, dig in.
So about those pills....
Thanks to my panic attacks in January-February, my doctor prescribed me some "preventative Xanex" as in, "just in case." I've only taken one or two pills since then, when I'm having a freak out. But for the most part I haven't needed it. Jeff, Brad, Devin, Josh and I decided on a get together at Boondocks in Draper (a small arcade/go karts/mini golf) outing. It was so much fun. But since my sleep schedule is so backwards and I would have been asleep for most of the activities, I took a Valium the night before because NOTHING ELSE will knock me out. Not melatonin, not sleep aides, not honey chamomile tea, not meditation, nothing. It was my last resort. The Valium allowed me to sleep for maybe two hours and I was up again. Angrily I took two Xanex. And then I had a nice, quiet, peaceful sleep.....for about thirteen hours. Benzo systems GO GO GO!!!
When I woke up, (in a haze) it was time for Brad to pick me up. It's about a half-hour drive from my place to Boondocks, so we were merrily on our way, in his red Mustang, cruising down I-15 without a care in the world. Then the unthinkable happened.
His car stopped working.
We were at a left-hand turn lane. Brad jumped out, popped the hood, turned on the hazard lights. The people behind us weren't getting it (ah, Utah drivers) so I stepped out and started directing traffic to move past us. Poor Brad. He's very high strung, and almost as neurotic as me, so he wasn't doing too well. His car had stopped, he had no idea what to do to fix it, and he was on the interstate with a doped up pill popper.
After traffic got the idea that this car with its lifted hood and flashing lights and driver and passenger standing outside weren't going to MOVE, Brad--still near-panicking--instructed me to call Jeff. So I did. Poor Brad had to stop what he was doing several times to push me away from the traffic line. I kept wandering into the other lanes. Had it not been for Brad, I may at this moment have become a splatter on the road. I was curiously unfazed, and called Jeff.
The conversation went something like this:
"we're uhh. We're on the um. Interstate."
"Okay. Well um......see you soon?"
"We're uh. Stopped. We're stopped."
"We're not. The car's off."
"Where are you?"
"Is there something wrong with the car?"
"Uhh. Yeah. Brad's looking at it. We're not there yet." (genius me)
"Okay um." (He seemed at a loss as to what to do.)
"Well....just wanted to let you know."
".......okay. Well, Devin's here. Let me know if you don't get it working again."
Luckily after that GEM of a conversation, we did get the car working and poor worried Brad insisted on taking backroads, making us a grand total of an hour and a half late to our outing. But that's all right, we had an amazing time anyway. They wanted to play mini-golf. I protested. The only two times I've indulged in golf, I've ended up getting kicked out and/or having to pay for the golf clubs I broke. My anger doesn't give me golf patience. Brad pointed out that I was still doped up on medicine and would probably be fine. He was right; I OWNED that golf-field for the first three or four holes. I was on top of my game like never before.
But then, about hole 8, I lost it, and started slamming things around, and my golf club ended up in a tree, so we figured go-karts was a better idea. The rest of the night was a blast. I really love my friends.
(Brad is on the left, Devin is on the right)
(Devin, Brad, Jeff.)