I think I must have received a bad shipment. Which is enough to destroy any drug user's week. I have noticed the last couple of times I shot up, as that little mechanical plunger is pushing the stuff in my leg, it just hasn't felt the same going in. And I was beginning to wonder if maybe something was amiss. And then Tuesday I got this flare up of the AS. Which hasn't happened since ... September? And that sort of confirmed it. But that's a hell of a way to receive confirmation. Metal rod, creeping it's way up the spine. Concrete in the joints. And so I responded as any self-respecting chemically-dependent person would: by drinking too much and watching a great movie—twice—before passing out on the floor of our basement. Escapism through film and unconsciousness through alcohol are great American pastimes. And Tuesday I was a Patriot.

And I hope all it is is a a bad shipment. Because if it's not that. If it's something else—like maybe the Enbrel just isn't working any more—well, that would be bad. But I'm starting a new batch of blue pens on Saturday and hopefully there'll be more kick to them.

It's weird how the body forgets pain. I've gone along for the last 4-5 months feeling normal. And when you're feeling normal, you tend to forget not-normal. You take normal for granted. And you begin to thumb your nose at not-normal and call it really filthy names, like "ass muncher" and "goat boy." And I'm real good at that. Because I sometimes like to burn bridges. And my body was ready to burn that bridge with not-normal and say good riddance. And I thought not-normal had gotten the message. Because he wasn't coming 'round at all. And I thought finally that annoying little fucker has left me alone. And I even started wondering if not-normal had just been a figment of my imagination. Like the monster under the bed. And maybe I'd just grown up and had begun to see that not-normal was nothing more than a coating of dust and few stray socks. And since normal was around to back me up, I was feeling a little cocky about all of this, getting more rigorous at the JCC, up-ing the weights, speeding up the stairs. And so there may have even been some chest-puffing going on. And I probably even told not-normal to go fuck off a time or two.

But not-normal heard me, and he was a little pissed. And so he worked his way in—just a hint at first—but then by Tuesday afternoon a full-blown limp had set up shop in my legs and my spine refused to go straight. And my mind recalled what this was like, and it didn't like it. Because he knew what came next. And so he gave me the green light to binge drink and watch movies. And do a little of the forgetting one might usually reserve for a really bad break-up or a death or something like that.

And I hate whining, especially on a day like this. Because it's sunny and crisp and there are signs of life on the trees. And it's Easter weekend, to boot. So I'll end this on a positive note and talk about the movie I watched. Because it was the glaring bright spot of Tuesday: The Darjeeling Limited. See it. It's now in my top-five favorite movies list, and if somebody would like to buy this for me as an anniversary present, I would give that person lots of kisses. Owen Wilson and Adrien Brody are fantastic. And so is Jason Schwartzman, for that matter. I think I'm just kind of partial to Wilson and Brody, in general. But all three really play off each other well in this movie and there is just some really great dialogue. In fact, this is definitely a dialogue-driven movie and I'm usually a sucker for those when they're done right. And Wes Anderson, who also did The Royal Tenenbaums and Rushmore, has a good reputation for doing it right. Here's one of my favorite lines: "I love you too, but I'm gonna mace you in the face!" This is probably one of those movies, however, that you will either love or feel completely indifferent about. And so if you don't like it, you'll probably wonder what the hell I was thinking, and if you love it, well we'll be able to just kind of nod at each other one day and maybe quote a line from the movie and that'll really be all we'll need to do, because we'll just know we appreciate the thing and it'll be enough. I'll say one other thing about it ... when you watch it, make sure you watch the 15-minute short clip called Hotel Chevalier which co-stars a short-haired Natalie Portman along with Schwartzman, and serves as a prologue to the main feature. It's so filthy and entirely good.

Okay. So now I'm just going to count the hours until tomorrow arrives. When I can inject this fresh batch of junk and hopefully feel that rush of calm come over me and a bit of the fatigue that comes along with it ... because that will mean it's good and it's working and this concrete in my joints should start going liquid once again and normal will come back.

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