There's a hole in mommy's arm where all the money goes...

It appears I have more to say today.

Unintentionally, this is the second blog in a row directly or indirectly about drugs. This one is actually a confession.

I have been thinking about Fentanyl for days. My God, it was fantastic. I had it twice in the emergency room; a nurse who was also a medic on a helicopter gave it to me. I remember he kind of acted like a badass, but at that moment I was not in the position to even be annoyed by him. He warned me that I would like it. He also warned me that they wouldn't give this to me on the regular hospital floor--because it is such a strong drug it required the recipient to be under the kind of supervision usually only available in the intensive care unit or in the emergency room.

There was nothing quite like the feeling I felt when he injected it into my arm. It was this sort of rush and warmth immediately throughout my body. I didn't care about anything else. I don't remember that nurse's name, but I remember him coming back into my room after injecting me and me telling him I thought I loved him.

I knew I would love drugs and I knew I would want more of them! That's why I never did them. I knew I could be like Sam Stone! I also find that I have a whole new appreciation for what how dependent on their boyfriends (as their providers and injectors) women who use intravenous drugs can get.

I find it terrifying that I'm still longing for this drug.