2002-11-12 - 9:21 a.m.

Helicopter Arms

Surely you remember what it was like when you were 8-years old. I do. Clearly.

I was a bundle of energy and got very resentful any time anybody demanded I stand still. You physically can't do this when you're 8. In fact, I'm still convinced that asking an 8-year old to stand still is about like asking an adult to tear their eyes out.

For years I would swing my arms, chase, and scream at my younger siblings, "I am the Helicopter of DEATH!" It worked wonderfully. I could herd people. In fact, I was a super villain.

But something happened. I got taller. By the time I was in high school (I was a late bloomer) I finally got tall enough that the helicopter of DEATH had to be careful when he was running through doorways. No problem. He adapted.

Oooooppps!

But what I didn't realize was that other things inside were also low. One day at a friend's house, I actually tore a ceiling fan from the ceiling. I was again chasing my brother and one of his friends and CRASH, my arms took part of the fan out.

The amazing thing is I didn't have a scratch, which only confirms my theory that I AM a supervillian.

Though I still hit more things, old evil helicopter arms returned Saturday night. After hanging with my friends for a game night, I took some allergy medicine (Benadrill IIRC). Damn, there is a reason I avoid drugs. My head was asleep, but my arms and legs were spazzing all night long. I got up several times in the night, feeling like utter crap, but tried to do stomach crunches and also ran around my apartment screaming, "I am the Helicopter of DEATH!"

OK, it would have been much more interesting if I had a puppy or hamster to scare, but wow, those were some drugs.

LISTENING TO: Klinik End of the Line

-=-

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