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This morning, though, when I woke up with what turned out to be a cold on top of allergies, but initially felt like the worst allergy symptoms ever, I opened the cabinet and saw the almost-full bottle of Zyrtec staring me in the face. "Maybe the last time I took it was an anomaly," I thought to myself, deciding to give the medicine another shot. So I took another half dose. And, boy, do I ever feel. . . like taking a swan dive off the Tower Bridge. That's a Craig Ferguson reference for
barca_k, who brightened my day with the comedian's monologue on treating alcoholism. Unfortunately, the clouds returned almost immediately.I actually sat down here to write that I've never felt less capable of real writing than I do at present. But then I remembered that it was only two days ago that I was flush with good ideas and the enthusiasm to realize them. Clearly, my self-assessment was the product of Zyrtec more than any kind of existential crisis. Or, rather, the Zyrtec amplified my ongoing existential crisis -- everybody has one, right? -- to such a degree that I felt like I was living inside The Cure's Pornography album, which makes a lot of sense, since I decided to listen to that one today, with Disintegration as a chaser, round about the time that the Zyrtec started to turn my spirit into vapor. Don't get me wrong. I like nothing better when I'm feeling bad than to climb inside a Cure song and shut the door to the outside world. It's just that I'd rather do that on my own initiative rather than that of a drug. The worst aspect of today's doldrums is that, because I actually have a cold, the Zyrtec did absolutely nothing to control the symptoms -- scratchy throat, runny nose -- that were bothering me the most. Think of it as the anti-Valium.
