Dear dog in heaven. As some of you know I don’t do drugs. Any. Mainly because they have the opposite of the desired effect. Give me a sleeping pill and I will be awake all night. I used to roll a mean joint. But never ask me to smoke it myself. A – I hate it. B – joint and I don’t get along. Mind you, grass is one up on the sleeping pill. Sending me straight to sleep. Wasted. That’s what. How my friends tolerated me I do not know. Still, there is always one who needs to wipe brows, clean up sick and generally give feed back to a poor sod on a bad trip. Yes, that’s me. Matron. Try not to throw yourself off the roof.
However, as I confided in you before: Morphine is my drug of choice. If I had access to it I wouldn’t wish to guarantee for myself. Two years ago when they tried to reset my arm OH MY GOD they gave up and gave me morphine instead. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. And Bliss.
This minute, and thanks for the above diversion, I am in grip of backache I didn’t think possible. I can’t believe it. I never ever have backache. Like I never ever have headaches. Yet, there is no denying it. My back aches. Brilliant. I know I have a body. Why does my back take it upon itself to remind me?