There’s A Party Inside My Head
I've decided to experiment with Noopept – a supplement derived from the Racetam family –which promises to improve memory, cognition and mood, at the same time that it heightens sensory perception.
I spent several minutes researching it several weeks ago and then stumbled across some samples of it on eBay and because I have a strong faith in humanity I ordered it immediately and was thrilled to find some white powder wrapped in a small silvery package arrive in my mailbox – the very next day – with only a website label to trace it’s origin.
It's sat in the cupboard for a week and it's only because of the madness of this very morning and the trouble we had getting everyone out the door and off to Tyson's Fourth Birthday Party that I made the last minute decision to take my first dose. I must celebrate Tyson's birthday with clear perception and a keen enthusiasm!
'Shoes on! This is the third time I've said it!' I bellow to the boys down the hall.
As I take the Noopept from the cupboard and place a small 20mg-ish dose on the tip of a teaspoon, Lewis appears to tell me he can’t find his shoes, and noting that we only have fifteen minutes to get to the birthday venue I take him by the wrist and we surge towards his bedroom like we’re droplets of mace sprayed from a can.
It takes twenty minutes to drive to Chuckles Indoor Playcenter which – according to an unverified medical website – is how long Noopept takes to affect it’s psychotropic powers.
As we pull into the carpark, Miss You by the Rolling Stones is playing on the radio and it’s the first time I notice something happening inside me. It’s subtle, but the music sounds so familiar and so much a part of me that its like another member of the family taking up one of the few remaining seats in the Tarago.
I find myself working in perfect synchronicity with Reservoir Mum to escort all four boys into the playcenter at the same time that we carry several bags, some water bottles and another RM special birthday cake. In my mind’s eye I actually see the chords I just heard being played on Keith Richard’s guitar. I also see an adult-human sized plectrum strumming through the air and just behind it, Mick Jagger’s pouty lips saying, RD, why you wait so long?
There are kids everywhere and their running and screaming is incessant and insane and yet I am able to detect, with almost no effort, the exact position of each of my four children at any time during the party and if I close my eyes I see a snapshot of all the bright colors around me, hedged in and held apart from each other by distinct borders. I feel I could draw a masterpiece if I had the appropriate tools and materials and am almost overwhelmed by a strong urge to read the biography of Andy Warhol, or to run to a Lily Mae Martin exhibition.
The occasion centres my attention on Tyson for the majority of the two hours and all at once I am aware of his unbridled energy, his obsession with water and iPads, the softness of his face, how strong he wrestles for such a little boy, how cheeky and defiant he can be, and how funny! And through it all is the awareness – a strong undercurrent – of how desperate I am for him to be happy. My mind time-travels from birthday to birthday projecting success and contentment into his life with each year until I see him in front of a birthday cake loaded with 105 candles, and he’s smiling, and he has his thumbs up, nodding, and so does Mick Jagger (who’s still touring with The Stones).
Shazaam! My crazy sweet boy!
The food is delivered to our table – a four year olds gourmet of nuggets and sausage rolls and chips, fairy bread and cordial – and there’s a constant coming and going of children and again the visual and auditory and olfactory awareness I have with my children is so clear and strong that I almost feel as if we are connected by a psychical umbilical chord.
The image of us standing at opposite ends of the playcenter and swinging the chords around so that everyone can ‘skip rope’ causes me to chuckle, and the synchronicity of chuckling in a venue named Chuckles envelopes me in a moment of awe.
Tyson is having a wonderful time and so am I and as I’m considering whether to write an article about Noopept or to keep this wonderful secret supplement to myself, I become aware of danger.
I look towards my youngest son Maki, just as a little girl sporting a sweet pair of piggy-tails wanders by and pokes him right in the throat. On the inside of my braincase I perform two spinning back-kicks and watch her ricochet off the outer walls of the jumping castle and into the ball pit to be lost forever among the odd socks and lost nappies and used syringes but on the outside I say, softly, ‘Hey sweetie, that’s not very nice,’ and pick up Maki for a quick kiss on the trachea and a long cuddle.
The iPad Cake was made by Reservoir Mum and Tyson is besotted by it and as we sing happy birthday to him I am aware of the smell of candles burning and the thickness of the cake’s icing and the soft curve of Reservoir Mum’s hips as she bends down and encourages Tyson to blow the candles out and, as we all clap rapturously at his triumph, Tyson opens wide and bites into the cake and the laughter the crowd produces is like a sun shower baring a rainbow and Mick Jagger is dancing in my mind singing about Puerto Rican girls and wine and I say Happy Birthday Tyson and I love you Noopept and then there’s a sound – like steam – that makes me aware of the earth turning.
As the cake is being dished out to the hungry open mouths of the party-goers my mind soars toward the post I will write for Tyson when I get home. I’ve been desperate to write about something that’s significant to the both of us, something his four-year-old brain will pack away and forget about until he decides to read the crazy old man’s ramblings one night, years down the track, when he’s feeling all nostalgic and reflective and wanting to reconnect with his roots. I’ve been thinking about it all week but nothing has presented itself to me until now. My mind opens up like a game of Tetris one piece away from completion. My dedication to Tyson on his fourth birthday will go like this –
Hey there mate, it’s been a crazy rocking ride these past four years. You’re a tough little dude with an attitude and I’m so happy that you went through a full two hours at your birthday today without looking me in the eye and saying fucken! Thanks for that. No matter how much effort I’ve put in to whatever ‘technique’ I’ve been trialling on you, I haven’t ever been able to stop your unique toddler habits.
You’ve done that ‘yucky face’ thing for two years. Your yelling has been so consistent I’m convinced your lungs were spawned by the Gods rather than me. And your sleep habits have stayed so defiantly consistent that you’ve just about convinced me you’re more genius than stubborn. Yep.
The time is coming my wonderful son, when I won’t get that time with you again, and I will miss that bundle of warm body and your warm skin on those sleep-deprived nights.
I love you my sweet, crazy, stubborn boy. And I’m projecting forward right now – I miss this thing we have together.
The party is coming to a close and yet Noopept and its impact on my mood and alertness is showing no signs of losing its peak.
There are kisses and cuddles and lolly bags being handed out and I even talk to the owner of Chuckles and she tells me that she doesn’t celebrate birthdays because she’s Muslim and I tell her that I know every word to Miss You by The Rolling Stones because I’m Bogan and then we’re driving home in a Tarago packed with kids and presents and when we get everyone out of the car and back inside our house I feel a concern about the mess and wonder how I’m going to get time to write for Tyson at all. And then it hits me –
I will just take another dose of Noopept, maybe even pour it onto a CD cover and separate it in to lines with a credit card and snort it, and then write like a Beat Poet until the sun’s coming up.
And it’s as I throw the empty cake platter onto the kitchen bench and bridal that enthusiasm that I notice the teaspoon sitting next to the open silvery packet of Noopept. There is a 20mg-ish dose still on the tip and I realise I forgot to ingest it in all the panic and madness of the morning. I have been running on nothing more than placebo and my own insanity.
I enjoy a sigh and a smile and then I place the teaspoon under my tongue, let the dose dissolve and look towards the clock. Apparently it takes twenty minutes for Noopept to take affect.
Happy birthday Tyson!