You know your life has taken an unfortunate turn when your cheek is smushed against a toilet seat and there's a floating head guiding you through an unwelcome rite of passage.
A couple years ago, I was over at the boyfriends house, happily cooking dinner. A mutual friend had baked "special" cookies for all of us to enjoy that evening. I had never eaten this type of cookie before, and while I was not terribly eager to try it, my boyfriend insisted that I eat it in interest of trying new things. I picked at it while I was cooking, not enjoying the powerful herb flavor. As we were eating, boyfriend asked how I was feeling and I admitted that I only had a couple very small pieces of the cookie. Now, I understand that he just wanted me to be relaxed and have a good time, but peer pressuring me into eating the rest of the cookie was probably not in my best interest. Regardless - in the interest of trying new things - I ate the rest after dinner.
Within minutes, I was in the fetal position in the corner of the couch, with my heart feeling like it was going to beat out of my chest. I was so anxious at this point that I just started crying. Boyfriend calmed me down, assuring that it would soon pass and I would start feeling really good. He advised that I pick something to focus on and to keep my breathing steady.
The closest thing in my immediate field of vision was unfortunately, a clock. I focused on it like I was going to blow it up with my mind. Seconds seemed like minutes. Time was moving so very slow and all I could think of was that it would be a long while before I would not feel so awful anymore. The second hand slowly and painfully made its way through the numbers. Taking boyfriends advice very seriously, I continued to focus on the clock. I studied the shape of it (admittedly very plain and round, but that night it was captivating), the way the hands moved so gracefully, admiring how the numbers were perfectly spaced. This clock had utterly no flaws. It was a perfect piece of machinery that had been under appreciated this whole time.
Feeling like I had just gained a new understanding and that I could now move onto the next object of interest, I turned my head towards the TV. This was a detrimental mistake. Immediately, the movement and color of the screen completely threw off my equilibrium. I was floundering, spinning, falling into a deep hole. I tried to breathe, looking away from the TV, back to the clock. The clock was no longer my savior. Knowing that I had left it unattended, aware that I had so easily neglected its shape and beauty, its mechanical perfection, it spite me with more vertigo.
I realized at this point I was fucking baked and that it was probably only going to get worse.
I picked myself up from the couch, walking like the undead with my head to one side, hips thrust out in front of me and back slouched, I made my way towards the bathroom, intent on purging the remaining cookie of fail from my stomach. I stumbled down the hall, mumbling something like "gonthrowupbadcook". I sat down directly in front of the toilet, fully expecting to urp up my release from this hell.
Nothing happened. I was still feeling dizzy but not nauseous at all. This frustrated me. I tried leaning into the toilet, in hopes that having my face closer to the bowl would bring back bad memories of being sick to assist with the current process. Nothing. I was mad at myself now, I needed this out of my system. I attempted to force my stomach muscles to push it up, mocking the natural process. While I was pushing, I was also intently straining my tongue, as if that would assist. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my mouth and with dread, I realized that I had gotten a cramp in my tongue. I was in pain and my tongue was stuck outside my mouth. I staggered back to the living room, with my masticating appendage stuck out for the world to see. Boyfriend immediately started laughing and asked why I had my tongue out. I sat down in front of him with a serious look on my face.
"I hah a cahnuh inh mah tongueh"
"You what?"
"A cahnuh inh mah tongeuh!"
"... You have a cramp in your tongue? I didn't know that was possible."
"Ih hurhs. Googehl cahnuh in tongueh, I hingk ihs suhuckh"
"You seriously want me to Google cramp in tongue? ...It's stuck? Try to move it."
"Nuh! Ih hurhs!"
"Go sit down and try to relax some more."
"Nuh, mah tongueh hurhs! Googehl ituh!"
His laptop in front of him, he pretended to look up "cramp in tongue" as I had diligently requested of him and after a moment, looked up.
"You're going to be ok. Just try to relax, it will get better."
Resigning to no longer argue with him, as attempting to talk had compounded the pain in my mouth, I turned to look at the TV as my vertigo had lessened in intensity. I could not tell you what was on the television, I just remember it being a rerun of an old show. I believe that I was able to make it through a full episode before I decided it was time to attempt heaving up the cookie again. I half stumbled, half crawled into the bathroom in a dream state.
As I lay with my face pressed up against the toilet seat, a floating head appeared just above the toilet. It was male and had long, white hair.
I spoke to it with my mind, as we were obviously both well-versed in telepathy. I tried my hardest to form coherent thoughts.
"I want to throw up. I need this out of my stomach so I don't get any more high."
"You are not ready yet."
"I'm ready, please, I don't want to do this anymore."
"You have not yet passed."
"There's a test? I'm really sorry, I'll never smoke weed again, ever. Or eat for that matter."
It just looked at me and then restated that I was not ready yet.
"I promise, I will never ever ingest any sort of weed again. I'll even advocate against it. I'll speak about how drugs are really bad. This is awful, I would hate for anyone else in the world to have to go through this experience."
Now, you know that you've gone down the wrong path when you're pleading to an imaginary floating head that if it heals you of your plight, you will go into public speaking.
Giving up on this round, I decided I would head back out to the living room to pass more time with whatever was displaying in the glowing box in the center of the room. When I turned away from the toilet, much to my horror, I realized that I had forgotten how to walk.
I dragged myself with my arms, intermittently attempting to make feeble kicks with my legs in hopes of propelling myself down the hall. I reached the living room and lay down on the floor. I was upset that I couldn't purge the cookie from my stomach and irritated that I was somehow now involved in a crude rite of passage. I laid there for an unknown amount of time, it could have been 10 minutes, but it felt like hours. I asked boyfriend to call an ambulance because I was most certainly near death. He said that he wasn't going to, that I needed to relax. My face on the carpet, I noticed how intricately the fibers were woven to form it. Every piece of lint, every piece of dog hair was larger than life.
Carpet was fascinating.
I had been woken from my open eyed coma by a faint queasy feeling. I knew this was my only chance. I dragged myself back to the bathroom as I had dragged myself out not too long ago, trying my hardest to hold on to the feeling but to also keep it under control until I reached the toilet. I pulled myself up onto the bowl and the face re-appeared.
"It is time."
I happily dispersed the contents of my stomach.
Feeling elated that I had triumphed but still higher than a kite, I carpet-swam my way back to the living room as I had not yet regained the ability to walk.
At some point, boyfriend carried me to bed, where I fell into a sleep of the dead. I woke early the next afternoon, still feeling out of sorts, but at least I was able to work my legs again.
I decided not to pursue public speaking.
