Comatose Sleep... Poked with a Chopstick

I ONLY DRAGGED MYSELF OUT OF BED yesterday for some basic home comforts, before pinging quickly back for hibernation. Friends had finished; there was a documentary on Channel 5 about how tribesmen of European descent found themselves interbreeding with Tibetan and Siberian stock in Central China in ancient times, living lives considered important enough for mummification... Yes it was one of those mysteries of the "how did a blond person get out here" type programmes with no real answers but very good for dunking Hobnob creams to...

Not very much of yesterday comes back, for all I really recall was being averse to the calls of drug-dealers (and the phone did ring a couple of times)... and crawling back to bed and sleeping... and sleeping... and sleeping some more... and waking finally after three o'clock in the morning having slept perhaps some twenty hours out of twenty-four yesterday. I'm glad I missed the day. At least no drugs was an achievement. I topped up on methadone twice while I drowsed, but awoke not eletrocutedly panick-stricken I need gear! but sweating and cold, a full sign of not having used and, despite my having scrupulously dosed precisely as prescribed and cautiously avoiding all and anything else, my minor dalliances of the past week swept over me in sweat and charged me interest in those little shivers. I don't know what else to go for.

A little research of mine has implied there may be some other options hitherto unexplored re opiate substitution therapy. One would involve a hydropmorphone ("Dilaudid") implant, slotted under the skin like a doggie's ID-chip this would leech out a semi-synthetic opiate, about the same strength as diamorphine if not stronger, by constantly skinpopping me night and day for a month. The principle being that with this reliably topping me up, no chance of missed or lost doses and a more heroin-like effects profile, my treatment might be more effective and more controllable. I'm determined this time to put my hand up to go on clinical trials for this thing. I've been mentioning for years I'd like to trial a new treatment and have been consistently ignored. This time I shall make sure that does not happen. I think it's about time some druggiedoctors listened to me for a change...

I played a furry trick on Baby Itchy Roborovski earlier today by sneaking up on the Trotters as they dozed in their nest and poking in a chopstick. Itchy was curled up alone and I provided verbal sound-effects as she span round, violently to nibble at her sides: "Oh no I'm having an itchy moment. Aaargh! It's the mites ~ they've come back!! Oh no I've got an itchy bum now, oh dear..." No wonder my next door neighbour gives me the weirdest looks whenever we pass in the hall...

I hope you all had a merry itchy harvestmousey weekend, y'all with no 20-hour bouts of sleeping as I might do. They say it's a hard knock life and all (Mother Hubbard's granddaughter watched that film Annie about 25 times in the space of 3 weeks when she was three...)...

... which brings to mind that Austen Powers rendition of the Musical Standard. Have an Entertaining Week, y'all...(!)

Dr Evil (& Mini-Me) Hardknock Life...