Narcotics...

     So, I was actually on some narcotics when I wrote this; I was sorta having a out of mind experience at the time. While this I written in the third person, I was reflecting on myself from the outside. Odd, yes, but par for the course. This isn't exactly fiction, yet also it is not exactly non-fiction.

Begin

     The night was dragging. Weekends often were often more calm, but the narcotics made everything move in slow motion; the clock seemed not to move, noises were more clear and his thoughts were not racing like normal. Able to process one or two ideas at a time verses ten or twelve, he felt more at ease; patient.
      He had heard stories about how Valium was suppose to mello you out, but this was something else; perhaps taking it with Lortab was doing something unexpected.
     He didn't feel the angst, the despair he normally did while watching people. He still viewed humanity as an infantile species, but with more acceptance, understanding; perhaps it was more compassion than normal.
     Maybe this was an opportunity to make some new observations, gain some new insight in to any possible meaning for existence. He didn't hold his breath, but he felt more open to the possibilities, that is if there were any left that had any value what so ever to them.
     As he pondered his new state of semi-clarity, he thought about the mere act of thinking. Did it matter if an idea was able to have more "air time" than normal, or was it really just the same only slower? If it didn't really matter or wasn't any different, then eventually the pity for humanity was bound to arise as "new" conclusions were drawn. Perhaps he was not going to gain new insights so "easily".

     Ignorance is bliss; unfortunately one can never return to that state so easily.

End