OK, so I suppose I should account for myself... like where I've been, you know, and why I've left nothing for you Astonished Head... uh, Heads to read but great piles of nothing, stinking up the place like Ninth Ward carpeting.
So anyway... I'm on steroids.
No, not the big head - inflating kind. Methylprednisolone, a corticosteroid brought to you by the makers of LSD.
I've written before about my amazing exploding face. Well... it finally got so bad that I procured some Rhinocort - - another steroid preparation - - but then discovered that I needed some oral steroids to jumpstart it. See, the insides of my nostrils had basically become a set of swollen red bricks. So the spray couldn't really get where it needed to go.
I'm breathing fine now. Unfortunately, methylprednisolone mimics a certain naturally - occurring andrenergic hormone... the same hormone that opens up the old schnoz when I go on a long bikeride. So I was awake for about 72 hours straight this past week. I also feel like I'm about to get jumped by some sort of predatory beast with illuminated retinas, sharp pointy teeth, and a rough tongue specially designed for licking off the thin nutritious membrane that surrounds my bones.
Which, of course, is exactly what I was trying to avoid when I quit pseudoepehedrine.
I don't doubt that this course of steroids and the atrocious histamine apocalypse that required it have contributed to my sour, unproductive mood. But the mood was only exacerbated by these things. The August blog doldrums slid straight into the steroid slump, and if I'm not careful the Big Winter Quiet will get me, too, and then suddenly it's 2006 and the last thing I'll have written about is what a loopy ponce Mr. Sullivan was about the whole FEMA thing.
But things will pick up. I know this to be true, because I've got a Wacky Plan.
