Who Put Hash in My Coffee?

I've decided that FreshDirect has gotten fed up with me complaining when they send me dirt-soaked Boston lettuce or can't tell the difference between shiitake and crimini mushrooms and send me the wrong ones. I think that they're putting hash in my nummy (yet reasonably priced) Brazilian Santos Bourbon coffee to shut me up.

Why, you ask, would I think that FD is hashing my coffee? Simple. Because I've spent this entire weekend feeling like a high-on, and I ain't been smokin' nuffin' illicit. Aside from doing a half-assed cleaning job on my kitchen, I've done almost nothing for the past two days, and I've apparently worn myself out so much in doing so that I've needed several compensation naps.

Last night, I watched one of the worst movies ever made (The Smokers). I forced myself to watch it all the way to the end because I just kept hoping it would have at least one redeeming quality (it didn't) and because I'm just stubborn sometimes. At least I surfed the 'net while I was watching it, or else I'd have had to throw the TV out the window. By the end of that crap movie, I felt, just, well, weird. Not physically weird, just kinda mentally detached or something. It was sort of like when I was a disaffected adolescent full of hormones and seething rage. Wow, that movie wasn't just bad, it was toxic.

Today, I don't feel like I'm actually inhabiting my body. You know how, right as you're falling asleep, your body feels kind of tingly and just "not there", like your mind has disconnected from it? Okay, maybe you don't, but I do, and I'm the one yapping here, so just go along with it, okay? Anyway, that's how my body has felt all day.

Or maybe it was just the painkillers I took for my headache.

Never mind.