When I was a kid, most of the medicine on the market was pretty vile. Well, at least the medicine my mother made me take. I guess she thought that a good tasting medicine couldn’t possibly be effective as there couldn’t be enough actual medicine in it.
Instead of getting those sugary kid cold syrups, mom would offer me up spoonful after spoonful of Robitussin. I can still taste it on occasion, as one of my taste buds seems to have been permanently altered by the stuff.
There was an upside to this. Our desire to get well sooner was certainly prodded along by the thought of having to take even one more spoonful of medicine from the family medicine cabinet. And no, all that “spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down” nonsense doesn’t help, certainly not with the medicine kept in my house.
I have found that anything over the years that anything taken in small doses is fine. I can take damned near anything, if it’s offered in finite, predictable doses.
This includes people, by the way. There are people in this world who I love to be around, in small doses. I’m not sure I could stand them if they came in bigger doses. They may overstay their welcome and like the cough syrup my mother used to serve up, I won’t want any more of it, perhaps for a very long time.
I certainly know this to be true in relationships. As we know, God gave us some pretty big blinders when it comes to finding someone else to be with. These blinders are designed so that we can propagate the species. Even a horse-faced mate looks pretty good initially. It’s only when we get a bigger dose of them that we come to find that they should have been put out to pasture long ago.
Sure, there’s that wonderful period of time that you can spend with someone. They seem absolutely marvelous and flawless. Your friends delight in their company. They seem to have it all together. Even if you walked into the bathroom right after they mowed down a case of refried beans the aroma wafting around the room would be a bouquet of fresh flowers because there’s no way that their sh** can stink.
You think this way, for a time. Then one day, you notice that they aren’t as wonderful as you thought. They begin to actually look a bit horsey faced to you; they’re a bit of a nag, they are temperamental and judgmental, becoming a bigger bitch or bastard every day you’re with them.
Without realizing it, you’ve stopped taking those small doses and are perilously close to an overdose.
Still, your friends can’t necessarily see it. They think you’re nuts for not thinking that your significant other hangs the moon. They would trade places with you in an instant.
They can’t see what you see because they are still being served up big spoonfuls of sugar with the now nasty tasting medicine.
Small doses have been the problem for most of my life. I’ve never been good at keeping them small. It’s how I ended up with Psycho, those small doses in the exotic islands of the Caymans. It’s how I ended up in Florida. It’s happened over and over in my life.
It’s always to be the same story, too. I have a temporary malady or malaise. I happen upon what seems like a great antidote to my current condition. It never occurs to me to take a local. Instead, I decide to buy a small dose on the open market wherever I’m at. I figure, what the heck. How could it hurt?
Sure, I turned down the bag of weed in Jamaica. But I readily took a hit of Diosapan in Key West. I thought, hey, what could it hurt? It may be good for the old ego. There was only one problem. I wanted more Diosapan. Even when I returned to Seattle I wanted more than I could get my hands on. Before I knew it, I was addicted to it.
That is not necessarily a bad thing. In small doses, Diosapan can be fine. Some people have been able to keep their doses regulated, getting just enough of the stuff to tide them over until next time. I know of people in Key West who build up their immunity for an entire year just so they can get their annual dose of Diosapan in December. They get just enough over a couple days so while it may get into their system, it won’t get under their skin.
There it becomes toxic. You start having mood swings, you hear voices, your disposition sours, your hair turns gray and for the first time in your life you think suicide is a really good idea.
Unknown to you, in high doses Diosapan goes from being intoxicating to toxic. Instead of healthy doses of Diosapan, Diosacide is coursing through your veins. You swear at first that it’s your imagination. Then you come to realize that you’ve gone over the edge. No one changed your prescription, the damned thing just morphed. But now you’re hooked on it, even though it’s turned on you.
There’s no help for you now. Your friends just think you’re daft. They’re on Diosapan too; what’s the big deal they say? They were smart enough not to take too big a hit, so they don’t know what it’s like. They think the demonic stuff is just fine, a real high… in the right “dioses.”
Me, I’ve finally learned my lesson. No matter where I go, I am immune to the seductive nature of gateway drugs in exotic locales and even local pubs. Sure, it’s eye candy and I still to like to look. But deep down I know somewhere under that candy coating is a bitter pill to swallow, one that no amount of sugar can make go down easy. Even if it were Mary Poppins delivering it peson I wouldn’t… well, on second thought, scratch that. A couple healthy doses from her and I’ll be dropping my pants so I can dance with penguins.
In the Emerald City, trying to come off that hit I took of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,
– Robb