Pompous Pills

In a city like New York, the diversity among drugs is as plentiful as the selection of obscure European designers. Manhattan doubtless provides the best of both. So, you should be surprised that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about antibiotics. Daniel’s had a cough for quite some time. After almost two weeks, I couldn’t take it anymore; he saw a doctor. Among the relief was a prescription for antibiotics. Surprised?

I've learned that all things worth loving in life are also worth hating. New York. Rainy days. Driving. Skin-tight clothes. Men. Also on my list are antibiotics. Medicinal relief is great. And, it is one thing to avoid all food and drink when one is ill. It is quite another to medicate oneself, however, with a bastard pill that poops all over one’s regular alcohol regiment! I can appreciate the power of pills, but I have always been averse to consuming antibiotics. I just can’t believe the arrogance, really. A little bourbon never hurt no one.

Did you also know that antibiotics lose their efficacy if they are consumed too often? What attitude! Would we tolerate household appliances with such fickle qualities? What about flaky friends? We’d throw out both. So, why are moody meds somehow okay?!?

With age, we learn that some of the most repugnant phases are inevitable. Happily, antibiotics are not the cure for the restlessness that I have continued to experience. Unhappily, my former stress outlets are becoming obsolete. My interest in exercise is waning. Bad movies and saucy pizza do little now. Days spent wholly horizontal fail to revitalize my spirit. Reading only fuels the restlessness!

What does one do when his antibiotics become poorly potent? Are there less capricious capsules? Is this where Eastern practices become appealing? More importantly, when our routine recourse ceases to satisfy, what do we do? Who or what can heal?

After much thinking and seemingly profound bouts of staring to space, I am bothered by that little sober voice from within that questions the validity of pills and therapeutic massage. I’m torn. Then, I hear clearly. Does the answer in this case truly yield from within? It's frightening to think that I might never know the cure, but I'd be crazy to listen to the little voices.