The Bloody Doors Off

Yeah, I was right.

I’ve never done cocaine.

Go with me here.

I have horrible sinuses. I can’t sleep at night unless I use a prescription-strength nasal spray before bed. And sometimes, like thirty minutes ago (I struggled whether or not to say ’30 minutes’) my nose’ll stuff up so bad I can’t breathe without it.

And it reminded me.

See? I didn’t go off on a long tangent to get there.

Back when I worked in an office (names and places redacted) where the group would get together by the photocopiers every Friday at shift change, we’d all been invited to a Christmas party. We all went. Had a great time.

As the group made plans to splinter (some, like me, were headed home to sleep; the others were off to a club), a couple of the guys ducked into the main floor powder room to uh, powder their noses.

And I wondered why, like Rudolph, I hadn’t been invited to this particular reindeer game.

End of story.

Until tonight.

When that memory comes back and hits me upside the head. Because I needed my own hit.

Where was I going with this?

Right. It made me wonder. If they had offered, would I have accepted? Or declined?

The honest answer is.

I don’t know.