I've never tried black-tar heroin.

Or any other heroin for that matter. I avoid needles at nearly all cost.

But from the various descriptions, and from the depictions in the movie Rush, I imagine this is what it feels like.

Trapped in amber and hopelessly confused. And every once in awhile, my train of thought just sort of evaporates.

It hit Tuesday afternoon but wasn't yet bad enough to keep me from attending the Thayer City Council meeting, hopped up on allergy pills and cough medicine.

It was really bad yesterday. Fever. Someone inside my head taking a hot poker to my left eye. Being on the brink of, but not quite reaching, vertigo and nausea. Thinking that one radio commercial about how the printer sometimes smears the printout is really, really funny.

SalooOOoopa, indeed.

Watched My Big Fat Independent Movie. It left me even more confused.

Fell into an uneasy sleep, often interrupted by my own coughing and struggling to breathe through the oil slick coating the inside of my lungs and airways.

Nightmares last night of thousands of maggots falling out of my nose. Random quotes from my past being announced on a loudspeaker in the hallway in my dream. "I remember my old Victrola." "Feel the silky touch of my gonads." "Extract it with us."

Woke up this morning and actually felt decent.

Until I sat up.

And the little man inside my head started taking a hot ice-pick to my left eye. I hate the little bastard. I bet he's a member of the Moral Majority. Douchebag.

More allergy medicine. Some of the good cough syrup, the awful-tasting orange kind with codeine. Sucrets. Jamming my nostrils full of Mentholatum. Menthol ciggies. Chicken bouillion. Listening to the death-rattle of mucus going on in my own lungs.

At some point seeing a crawl across the bottom of the screen announcing the death of George Lutz. Wondering if Jodie will be lonely now. Still being confused about whether Jodie is the ghost of a young girl or a demonic pig.

Dragging my contagious ass out of the house to give my minions a brief update about my unexplained absence. Wondering if it will end anytime soon.

Thinking about suggesting the TV in That Thing's cell should play one show and one show only on an infinite playback loop.

Boohbah.

Watching my train of thought depart again and wondering where it's going or if it will ever return. Coughing up what appear to be small yellow potstickers. I wonder when I ate potstickers. Have I EVER eaten potstickers?

The taste of liquid salt or blood or snot or some suspension liquid of the three filling my mouth whenever I breathe through my nose. The little man getting happy with his icepick again. The pressure inside my head expanding like Rosie O'Donnell's waistline at the all you can eat buffet.

Am I going to die?

Maybe it's a brain tumor.

Damn I hate that little man.