Slugs and Drugs

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Yo.

Sometimes, when I'm editing a novel, I get peculiarly sensitive. To smells, feelings, a trick of light: everything. All six senses are on high alert. I walk in a daze; my mind filled with invisible people and their life-changing catastrophes.

One day, I arrived home at 3am in such a state. I walked into my bathroom and emitted a piercing shriek. There was a slug. On my sink. Flolloping gently in its own slime. (In my bathroom. Where I go to get clean.)

The slug was spotted in delicate circles of darker brown against the sludgy colour of its skin. It was about five inches long, and bloated. At least an inch or two around the middle. I'd never seen a leopard slug before. I'd never seen a slug anything like that big. I thought it was a new species.

I backed away, and stared at it. My mother taught me from a young age that when something comes in the house, you kill it. Or it'll come back. I stared at it; quiveringly fat against the white porcelain. In my unusual mental state, I was the slug. It was nice inside, in the warmth. The porcelain was deliciously smooth against my flat, moist belly. I was fat, and glistening, and somnolent with contentment.

Slug in the house. Got to kill it. How did that thing get in my house? Should I call CSIRO and file a report?

*flash back in time* I was at a friend's house, with her hard-as-nails mother. The mother and I were in the bathroom. Two slugs in the sink. She poured salt over them, and I asked what she was doing.

"Watch," she said.

I watched. The slugs changed before my eyes. White salt fell on them and turned black, burning holes in their soft skin. They shrunk, and shriveled into tiny hard crusts.

"Slugs are mostly moisture," she said. Her hard face smirked at her own cleverness.

It seemed like a horrible way to die.

*back to the story*

I stared at me. I stared at the slug. I already knew I'd be dreaming about him that night; reliving the look of his soft, mushy, corpulent body. I tried my best to shut down my senses; to block out what was happening. It was no use. I'd remember the slug for the rest of my life. He was in my bathroom, and had slid and slimed and wriggled into my mind. Forever.

*another random flash in time*

Me, the next day: There was a slug in my bathroom. It was so big. . .

Friend: Stepped on one of those once.

Me, recoiling: Oh, ew!

Friend: Yep. Barefoot. Don't do that.

Me, staring as he frowns in thought, and realising the danger: No don't. Don't tell me about --

Friend: So liquidy, you know? It went everywhere.

Me: No, don't --

Friend (reflectively): I washed my foot so much, but it still took days. I could smell it, and feel it. . .

Me: [committing acts of violence on his person.]

*back to the story*

I didn't kill the giant slug. I put it outside (never saw it again, either). I was tempted - ever so tempted - to immediately sit down and write about it. But I knew better than to let myself think about it for even a second. Still had a nightmare, though.

*and NOW to the real present: today*

It's two years later and, finally, I've written about the slug. Not for any special reason, except that it rhymes with drugs. Also, last night some of my Dad's friends dropped some free bread on my front porch. I didn't notice it til about 1am - when the plastic bags surrounding it were brimming with cockroaches and slugs. So my past slug experience came to mind.

On the topic of drugs: Every so often, when I'm driving late at night, I hallucinate. Just a little. A giant rabbit here, a monstrous alien there. The hallucinations only last a couple of seconds, and the only scary bit is when a hallucination turns out to be a real hazard on the road (since the usual reaction to a hallucination is to ignore it). As far as I can tell, they're not really hallucinations - just a misinterpretation of actual data. So if, for example, a small child ran across the road, I might see a modern manifestation of the rainbow serpent. (Which is why I brake for giant rabbits - and I also play a fun game with nervous passengers, which I call, "Hey, did you just see a. . . . . . ? Coz I did." It's especially fun with the friend I quoted above.)

I went off antidepressants (Zoloft) during December, and I've noticed that my hallucinations returned - also that they didn't happen while I was on the drugs (I think this is the point at which I mention that Zoloft is the only drug I've ever been on, other than caffeine). So, whatever else anti-depressants do, they (temporarily) cure hallucinations. This absolutes fascinates me.

On the down side, antidepressants happen to CAUSE hallucinations once you stop taking them - I've also noticed that my hallucinations have increased, and begun happening during the day. Another side-effect of going off antidepressants is "gait difficulties". For up to two months. So, to sum up: I see things that aren't there, and can't walk good. I just feel wrong, when I walk. ANd I fall over a lot. And drop things (coins, keys, etc)

Which is a TINY bit awkward when you're starting a new and challenging job. (Brilliant! I just managed to actually link the title to my intended topic! The title could more accurately have been, "Hey yeah, so I, uh, sort of have a job, yeah, which is kind of great, yeah, but also a bit...er...daunting. Yeah." But if THAT was the title then I wouldn't have rambled about slugs for so much of the entry. So here we are.)

This week I've had three interviews for after school at-home care positions - and I actually got the best one. AND managed to fit it around my tutoring work (which happens to only happen at precisely the same time window as at-home care - late afternoon: the only time I'm willing to do paid work :)  ). It's a brilliant location, with great kids, and a laid back family (I don't deal well with stress. At all. If the parents had so much as glared at each other during the interview, I would have refused to work for them.)

The beautiful thing is, the kids are old enough I can help with their homework (tutoring is what I'm really good at) - I benefit, cos it's fun, the students benefit academically, and the parents are absolutely getting their money's worth ($20 an hour - tutoring generally costs about $40), which I hope makes up for me falling over sometimes.

Very soon (theoretically next week) I'll be earning enough to start paying rent again. Which is sort of sad, because it'd be so nice to put all that money toward my debt instead. But oh well - once I'm up to paying full rent, I'll be able to start throwing pennies at my debt. One thing at a time.

The main thing, next, is to just do my work and try not to panic at having so much more than usual. My parents are away at present and Tim, my boyfriend of almost-a-year, is housesitting - technically in the same residence as me. (Which means I can gleefully trumpet that we're living together, thus giving the world an entirely incorrect impression). It's excellent, and I'm glad we're doing it, but it's also a fast way to find an astonishing array of serious flaws (which is why it's excellent, given the likelihood of marriage in our future). I lasted about 5 hours before getting annoyed at him (we've talked about it and we're fine, but my illusions of him fitting my idea of the perfect housemate are shattered). So that's something else to deal with.

I am, technically, confident of my ability to do this job. I start Monday, though, and I'm ever so nervous. Just one teensy question: What if, while jumping to defend the children from a nine-foot slug that may or may not actually be something, I trip over and brain myself?

Hmm.

Oh well. I feel much more confident now I've written about the leopard slug in my bathroom. Given a week of work (and a tripled paycheck) I suspect a lot of my worries will slither away.

Fel