Addy-ios

Technically, this fall semester of college is my fourth year, unless of course I take into account that I haphazardly took a yearlong hiatus. In those 4 years it’s obvious that experimentation would be an everyday occurrence, but unlike most of my collegiate peers, I had yet to experience the pleasure of pulling an “all-nighter” thanks to the wonder pill commonly referred to “addy” by the cool kids.

I never felt the need to study all night or type two five-page papers in one evening on two entirely different topics, but when I realized that the fall semester is coming to an end, and that it is my first year back doing the whole school thing, and I had yet to write my midterm papers discussing the rhetorical choices Larry Levis uses in his poem, My Story in a Late Style of Fire, for my poetic technique class. And that I had yet to write my midterm paper on the themes of naïveté, innocence, gender subjugation and individual agency found in Kate Chopin’s "Desiree’s Baby" and Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s "The Yellow Wall-paper," I figured it was time for me to test adderall out for the first time.

Prior swallowing one of two 20-miligram pills, I had only heard from friends how remarkable this works.

“Time is just efficient”
“Dude, it’s pretty great”
“I was all addy’d out last night—turned into a Halo-fest”

But I was skeptical, and ignorantly associated adderall with Jesse Spano’s ‘pep-pills’—the ones that Zach Morris so caringly disposed of in an early episode of "Saved by the Bell." I think Jesse nearly overdosed studying for Mr. Tuttle’s exam.

It’s 6:55 in the morning, the sun hasn’t come out yet, but it’s approaching. I haven’t danced, cried or had random high school buddies climb through my bedroom window like Jesse had, but I did, however, just complete two of my best essays.

I took a long nap today, woke up feeling groggy and had ‘afternoon-nap-breath.’ It’s a lot like morning breath, just a few hours overdue. The lights were off in the house; my people were watching "Monday Night Football" across town, drinking beers and celebrating the start of the week, ironically. I made the conscious decision to join this group, have a couple of beers, watch the first half of the Colts/Jags blowout, and purchase two tiny pink pills from an inconspicuous collegiate drug dealer.

These 18-20 year old college drug dealers share little similarities with real drug dealers: (a) they’re 'college' drug dealers. Selling a couple of prescription pills and 1/8 oz of green to a tight circle of acquaintances is barely a crime—slap on the wrist at most. It's not a career move. And (b), it’s a hell of a lot safer than scoring some crack on the street. I don’t do crack.

When I got back home, roughly 10:45-ish, my roommate and I sat on the couch, ate some dinner and watched the rest of the game. At 11:30-ish, feeling tired and contemplating if I’d even do the assignments today since they are not due until Wednesday, I made my way towards “The Factory.” A new name I gave my room because of the massive amounts of incredible work that is produced at a small, black desk that stores the soundtrack of my life. And it’s an undersized homage to legendary artist Andy Warhol.

I started reading over my instructions, popped a pill and opened a blank document on Microsoft Word for Mac. Three hours later, a brilliantly crafted essay. It was time for a short break.

15-minutes went by, and I was back at my desk, joined by Mozart and Beethoven, Chopin and Bach. Three hours later…BOOM!...another brilliant essay—time for bed.

Actually, no—I’m 40-miligrams deep, and there is no sign of this wearing off before morning. I’m left with no choice besides updating my growing blog and roaming the streets of the information super highway—Internet, you know. Why else would I be awake at 7:19 in the morning on a day I don’t have class till 11?

Cheers,
Victor