High Times

Who doesn't love paint fumes?! The first awesome thing I did after work tonight was spray paint a bunch of clothespins. The second awesome thing was when I did it in an enclosed space. It wasn't my fault, dudes. I have a lot of prep work to get done for my sister-in-law's baby shower this Sunday, and it's seriously raining frozen cats and dogs outside. So I had to take to the basement laundry/furnace room to get my craft on.

Anyhooz, the last awesome thing I did tonight was to sit in the basement, watching an Amish show on PBS. It wasn't even the Amish thing that was such an accomplishment. It was the fact that for 2 hours, I inadvertently inhaled the insane paint fumes pummeling me from the open laundry room/furnace room.

I'm concerned that I have gotten high off the fumes.

I believe I'm in a sort of paranoid state now. The world is covered in ice outside and I'm worried that my pink glitter spray paint had something to do with it. While beautiful, the ice - like the pretty paint - is dangerous. Whoops, I slipped on the ice! Whoops, I spent hours inhaling toxic fumes!

I've also got a raging headache. I held the spray paint can up to read the side effects of breathing in the stuff for too long, and the words just kind of blended together. My fingers were covered in pink glitter and when I went to rub my eyes to make the words clearer, all I managed to do was smear the paint in my eyes. Score.

Apparently, I'm a very chatty person when I've been inhaling fumes. I just talked to Geo for twenty minutes. For 15 minutes, I discussed everything from the weather to a girl who I want to trick into being friends with me to my inquiries of a VPN (virtual private network, n00bs). I also discussed, at length, the dragons that seem to be coming out of my fingernails.

This little experiment in Crafting Highs seems to be getting to me. Just now, my stuffed teddy bear did this awesome Chorus Line dance across my room while my Nelly Furtado poster belted out that disgustingly awesome song by Fun called We Are Young. The words of the song then materialized and floated over my head until they melted into my pillows and turned into pools of pink glitter. I'm both excited and scared to get into bed.

Well, the eight-legged unicorn is finally done painting her mural in the bathroom, so I should probably get these mosaic'd contacts out and brush my teeth (which are actually just tiny villages of albino armadillos). And before the lightning bolt made out of spider webs crashes through my ceiling, I better put my tinfoil hat on and get these wild rabbits back in their cages. Which are made out of rainbows.

UPDATE: So, my mom just called and was worried I had blown myself up. NOTE: I did NOT realize that the reason you don't use paint indoors - especially in furnace rooms - is because FURNACES HAVE OPEN FLAMES. Turns out open flames + paint fumes = something much less hilarious than hallucinations. Anyway, I had a sufficient panic attack before dragging my roommate Andrew down to the basement to locate a fan. I'll be sleeping lightly tonight. Also? No more space heater for me...