I have never come so close to death as I have in a tonsilectomy. No, even the time I fell down a cliff face at Joshua Tree and my leg split into bloody shreds I felt way less like death. That was just an inconvenience. This is a disruption of my life, you see. To attain said surgery, I had to give up all the good things in life, like all those limes I can’t hold or spicy food or booze, various salacious acts, and like I said, those limes. As it ends up, oxycodone does not delight me as I suspected. It mostly makes me unreliably energetic or drags me into her Oracle.
Her Oracle, the Lady Percocet.
All Oracles have been over the course of history is a woman or a few women or some old, trusted men, expected to speak unknown truths. My favorite has always been the Oracle at Delphi, Apollo’s Oracle, upon whom I wrote for a long winded report in eighth grade, right after I skipped out of seventh in hopes of advancing my career as a child. It is another one of those reports I evade today, again cursing my childhood career choices. I am doomed to be an academic, as is evidenced by the studies performed by my Oracle at Percocet.
The Oracle at Delphi, Pythia, inhaled fumes from fissures at Mount Parnassus in order to “connect to the divine” and communicate her visions. The idea of an Oracle or a Priest has always been rather romantic to me in mythology — someone who translates the divine understanding for common consumption, much like anyone bookish does if they get to leave their desk for a few minutes at all.
Tangent made, I meet the Oracle of Percocet an hour and a half after dosing. For the first hour after my dose, I can only rely upon pain relief. For the second, I will either be stuck with high functionality and low focus or high focus and near comatose state. In this state, I will attempt to sleep but think I may be too cold, but then I will forget how to use a blanket. I will, however, write entire research papers on trends in American Horror films:
Well, if I just haven’t had the most drawn out, unsettling, grotesque detailed dream about a research paper I’ll never write on a topic I’ll never look into, instead of writing a real research paper.
The topic was about “From Unknown Horrors to Shock: Our Culture’s Fear of Unanswerable Questions.” It was about how we’ve resorted to shock horror and the overtly physically disgusting because the questions raised by previous existential-thought-provoking-unseen horror films were incompatible with our growth as a society. How to go from The Shining to the Human Centipede, essentially. And then the dream provided some examples of films that probably don’t exist that were key in this transition.
Also I rewatched some really gruesome clips that probably don’t exist, and washed off a fetal pig.
The lecturer, for this course, was amazing, and in the FMS department, which recently merged with the ENG department at ASU. Just so you know.
That is the most unseemly transmission the Oracle has given me. The others are too self-abasing or vulgar.
Meanwhile, I have yet to regain some human functions, like Kahlua or solid foods. :(