I try to go about my day as discreetly as I can, honest. I understand that the fully functional IV stand that I drag along with me everywhere I go raises some eyebrows, but some people are curious to the point of fucking impertinence.I get a lot of questions, and I try answering all of them. It just gets so exhausting that no one ever thinks of me, my feelings and my need for privacy.
It usually starts with the question, "Are you all right?"
I try to assure my interlocutor that I'm just fine, but that only prompts further questioning.
"What's in the IV?"
"Dilaudid."
"What's that?"
"It's a painkiller. Elvis took a bunch of it. So did Michael Jackson, but usually they give it to cancer patients."
"Are you sure that you're okay?"
"Right as rain, so long as I have my dilaudid IV."
"That patch on your arm, are you trying to quit smoking?"
"No with this lit cigarette in my mouth, I'm not."
"Well, what is it?"
"Fentanyl."
"What's that?"
And on and on it goes. Dozens of times a day, every day, for years now. If you ever wondered why I'm the misanthropic sort, now you know. People are far too fucking nosey. Especially when I'm trying to get to my dealer's place. Christ, haven't any of you people ever heard the Velvet Underground's first album?
But I'm going to address the question here. Hopefully, this will be the first and last time I have to do it. Why do I need the dilaudid and fentanyl, you ask?
I'm a natural redhead. A ginger as it were. And it hurts.
Happy now? Can you all just leave me the fuck alone?
After all, I hear they have Flinstones percocet out and I'm trying to get some.
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