Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

Abstract

raggled on all my zoom calls with sallow skin and bags under my eyes, etc. On zoom, you have to see yourself way more than usual. So, maybe I’ll try…</p><h2 id="4689">Downers</h2><p id="a509">This could be a real turn-on. After all, I have not been sleeping enough. Staying up late posting blogs, or going on crying jags, and waking up early to pee and not being able to go back to sleep — sorry, TMI, I know, but you’re my friends and you love me anyway — means I am sleep deprived. Majorly.</p><p id="e27f">So maybe I could try something super soporific, boozy, or even some extra-strength Benadryl and knock myself out for two or three days at a time. This will make the quarantime go faster. Or appear to.</p><p id="f732">Of course, with my luck, I’d probably wet the bed or worse. The hygiene aspect really sucks. My hair would be a wreck with no way to get it cut or attended to. I’d probably end up in the ER, with all the coughers and contagious Corona folks. This could go from bad to worse in a heartbeat. So maybe…</p><h2 id="b789">Hallucinogenics</h2><p id="e322">Pot? I can’t stand the smell or the cigar-sized blunts they’re smoking nowadays. And I am way outdated on the current lingo and culture, not that that matters right now.</p><p id="ab84">I could try acid. I never did as a kid when all my friends did. I was the one who helped everyone come down from their bad trips. Like the designated driver. Thanks to my hyper sense of responsibility, I knew it wasn’t for me.</p><p id="3dba">Having the walls throb or cutlery dance or the sky turn funny colors freaks me out. And I am already effing freaked out.</p><p id="89b6">This would not drive me to the hospital. At least not the medical hospital. It would get me to the psych ward, and that’s a lot longer stay than overnight in the ER. And in some ways spookier. The cure is worse than the disease. So no…not for me, thanks very much…how about…</p><h2 id="9763">Gambling?</h2><p id="8af8">Nope. I may need my money. No telling what the economy is going to do.</p><h2 id="c6e6">Sex…</h2><p id="5359">It used to be my drug of choice. Now that we’re quarantined, my choices are much more limited. Down to three — me, myself, and I. Well, these three have been my sex partners on and off for…well, years.</p><p id="273d">So some of the excitement has worn off. And, thanks to estrogen depletion, much if not all of the necessary libido responses and natural lubricants. Yes, there’s good old KY, but why bother if it’s not

Options

gonna be a sustainable high? I’m not about to throw 32 years of sobriety out for some dumb virus, at least not yet. So what’s next?</p><h2 id="0996">Sugar? Chocolate?</h2><p id="f48c">For some reason, they don’t appeal to me right now as much as they usually do. I save money by not buying lots of sweets. I typically binge at restaurants and potlucks, which are not happening now. That’s how I’ve lost a few pounds, which I don’t want to gain back just yet. It’s fun to look better in the clothes that are resting until there’s a reason to wear them. Next!</p><h2 id="ffb3">Cleaning…</h2><p id="ee67">I should. But I keep reading that messy people are more creative. I’m not about to risk it. If it’s a choice between writing another novel and having a spotless house, for me, that’s a DUH!</p><p id="f336">Which leads me back to…wait for it…</p><h2 id="42ba">Writing!</h2><p id="17b5">I never considered writing an addiction, but maybe it is. After all, if I lose sleep and skip meals for it…forget to shower, clean, and eat, does that qualify it as a drug?</p><p id="3ea7">What I know is, when anxious or depressed, if I start writing, anything at all, here in Word, or by hand in my journal, I do begin to feel better.</p><p id="1885">The impulse to find just the right word, to sound sincere, wax worldly, craft comically, or execute with eloquence comes to the fore, allowing stress to slither silently somewhere else.</p><p id="6959">My breath deepens. My pulse stabilizes. I re-engage with my creative spirit — which is who I am and why I’m here, or so I believe. Above all this is healing.</p><p id="65b0">So, Uppers, Downers, Hallucinogenics, Gambling, Sweets, Cleaning, thanks for applying. Looks like we are unable to employ you in a meaningful way at this time. But I’m sure someone somewhere nearby can.</p><p id="e158">In the meantime, Writing, thanks for your patience. Didn’t mean to alarm you. But it sure makes for a juicy topic tonight…</p><p id="95bb"><b>Marilyn Flower</b> writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, <i>Freedom Anywhere</i>, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. <a href="https://www.subscribepage.com/c7e2v1"><b>Click here to receive ten templates for creating your next humorous piece.</b></a></p></article></body>

I Need a New Addiction

And I need it now!

Nowadays, I have more time on my hands or at least the illusion of more time on my hands. Actually, we have the same 24 hours a day we always had, and zoom is doing a great job of filling them up two, three times a day, but…

At the same time, not having to travel to a meeting, and leaving the house a whole lot less does give me more time. A funny thing about this virus and shelter in place — right now, I am not thinking about how to use the time to enrich my life.

I am thinking about how to make it pass quickly so I can get the hell out of this time warp. So I could watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show again and again. Instead, I thought I might audition some addictions I haven’t yet tried to see if that’s a possible new solution for what ails me.

Uppers

Somehow I made it through college without speed. Most of my friends used some form of meth-amphetamines, especially at exam time. I had roommates that would sew a whole new wardrobe or clean the house from top to bottom in one day.

They never shared the stuff with me. Probably because I could barely handle pot. They knew me better than I knew myself.

But long about now, I could really use being able to clean the whole apartment in one go, or write a week’s worth of blogs in one afternoon, or cook up a bunch of meals and stick them in the freezer or drop them off on porches of shut-in friends.

But then again, my heart probably couldn’t take it. With my luck, I’d be in the ER for 24-hour observation without remembering clean undies, a toothbrush, and a phone charger cord.

Besides, it makes me tired just thinking about this. Not to mention the fact that I would look so bedraggled on all my zoom calls with sallow skin and bags under my eyes, etc. On zoom, you have to see yourself way more than usual. So, maybe I’ll try…

Downers

This could be a real turn-on. After all, I have not been sleeping enough. Staying up late posting blogs, or going on crying jags, and waking up early to pee and not being able to go back to sleep — sorry, TMI, I know, but you’re my friends and you love me anyway — means I am sleep deprived. Majorly.

So maybe I could try something super soporific, boozy, or even some extra-strength Benadryl and knock myself out for two or three days at a time. This will make the quarantime go faster. Or appear to.

Of course, with my luck, I’d probably wet the bed or worse. The hygiene aspect really sucks. My hair would be a wreck with no way to get it cut or attended to. I’d probably end up in the ER, with all the coughers and contagious Corona folks. This could go from bad to worse in a heartbeat. So maybe…

Hallucinogenics

Pot? I can’t stand the smell or the cigar-sized blunts they’re smoking nowadays. And I am way outdated on the current lingo and culture, not that that matters right now.

I could try acid. I never did as a kid when all my friends did. I was the one who helped everyone come down from their bad trips. Like the designated driver. Thanks to my hyper sense of responsibility, I knew it wasn’t for me.

Having the walls throb or cutlery dance or the sky turn funny colors freaks me out. And I am already effing freaked out.

This would not drive me to the hospital. At least not the medical hospital. It would get me to the psych ward, and that’s a lot longer stay than overnight in the ER. And in some ways spookier. The cure is worse than the disease. So no…not for me, thanks very much…how about…

Gambling?

Nope. I may need my money. No telling what the economy is going to do.

Sex…

It used to be my drug of choice. Now that we’re quarantined, my choices are much more limited. Down to three — me, myself, and I. Well, these three have been my sex partners on and off for…well, years.

So some of the excitement has worn off. And, thanks to estrogen depletion, much if not all of the necessary libido responses and natural lubricants. Yes, there’s good old KY, but why bother if it’s not gonna be a sustainable high? I’m not about to throw 32 years of sobriety out for some dumb virus, at least not yet. So what’s next?

Sugar? Chocolate?

For some reason, they don’t appeal to me right now as much as they usually do. I save money by not buying lots of sweets. I typically binge at restaurants and potlucks, which are not happening now. That’s how I’ve lost a few pounds, which I don’t want to gain back just yet. It’s fun to look better in the clothes that are resting until there’s a reason to wear them. Next!

Cleaning…

I should. But I keep reading that messy people are more creative. I’m not about to risk it. If it’s a choice between writing another novel and having a spotless house, for me, that’s a DUH!

Which leads me back to…wait for it…

Writing!

I never considered writing an addiction, but maybe it is. After all, if I lose sleep and skip meals for it…forget to shower, clean, and eat, does that qualify it as a drug?

What I know is, when anxious or depressed, if I start writing, anything at all, here in Word, or by hand in my journal, I do begin to feel better.

The impulse to find just the right word, to sound sincere, wax worldly, craft comically, or execute with eloquence comes to the fore, allowing stress to slither silently somewhere else.

My breath deepens. My pulse stabilizes. I re-engage with my creative spirit — which is who I am and why I’m here, or so I believe. Above all this is healing.

So, Uppers, Downers, Hallucinogenics, Gambling, Sweets, Cleaning, thanks for applying. Looks like we are unable to employ you in a meaningful way at this time. But I’m sure someone somewhere nearby can.

In the meantime, Writing, thanks for your patience. Didn’t mean to alarm you. But it sure makes for a juicy topic tonight…

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Click here to receive ten templates for creating your next humorous piece.