Love That Feeling

I just ate one of those Cepacol cough lozenges. You ever eat one of those? It completely numbs your mouth. Oh I love that feeling. I still remember the first time I'd eaten one. It was a free sample from the doctor. I cracked it out of the foil package, considered its chalky surface the colour of raw meat, and popped it in my mouth.

Almost instantly I was at the same place as when I ate my first Szechuan flower. Ever eat one of those? I love that feeling. The first time I ever ate one, I was at a collective meeting discussing wedding planner guidelines or some other lame-ass topic that becomes vital when you manage a community center. The bitter, lemony flowerbud instantly puckered and numbed my lips.

I intensely rubbed the flower across them, even after the rest of the collective members started laughing awkwardly, like when I first told my mother I didn't ever want to eat meat ever again. You ever do that? I love that feeling. Alienating yourself from your entire family, your own flesh and blood. It's kind of like that feeling you have whenever you completely botch an interview but still ask them quote - so when can I expect to hear back from you - unquote.

It's like that old saying, "It went over like a fart in church." You ever do that? I love that feeling. I did once in the second grade at the Saint Aloysius Catholic School while we were walking around in the cathedral seeing all those pictures of that Jesus guy as he was walking to where he would be crucified. I blurted it out, and for a single glacial second, no one said a word. Then everyone chuckled and giggled.

You ever do that? I love that feeling. Farting in church. Being ostracized. Fucking up interviews. Being numb. Being terribly ill. I love that feeling.