We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded, maybe you should drive . . ."

—Hunter S. Thompson,
"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

I'm home sick today and riding the crest of a nice buzz. A couple of years ago I cracked a tooth or some such thing and my dentist phoned in a prescription to get me through the weekend. Somewhere along the line a big, beautiful mistake was made and when I picked up my package from the pharmacy at what I like to call The Big Blue Hell (a.k.a. Wal-Mart), I was given a bottle containing 50 Vicodin.

This is somewhat like winning two tickets to Disneyland when you've never been on a roller coaster, but you're about to find out that you really like roller coasters.

My RN wife was aghast that anyone would actually fill a prescription for 50 Vicodin, and proceeded to tell me how addictive the stuff can be. So I rarely allow myself a dip into the stash because I don't want to end up in Detox Mansion raking leaves with Liza. But at the moment, I have a touch of some bug that has drained me of energy yet isn't allowing me to sleep well. Little Pill of Happiness, come to Daddy.

All in all, it's a very nice way to be ill. Exhaustion and loss of concentration without all the other physical nastiness usually associated with an invasion of body snatchers. A perfect day to send my wife off to work and the kids off to school so I can watch the snow fall, surf the Web and read a novel.

Maybe I'll add a few new blogs to my links section, such as cfsmtb in low earth orbit. I also put up a few new ones last week, so check 'em out if you haven't clicked through the links for a while. I'll try to resist the temptation to link to Fixed Gear Enthusiass again—there's a fellow blogger down in Homer who's still recovering from that one.

Here's a very encouraging bike story I meant to link to several days ago. I got lazy and forgot, then found it again this morning on George's blog.

My coherence might be slipping. I'm surprised I made it this far. I'll close with a joke to carry us into Thanksgiving:

So this dyslexic guy walks into a bra . . .