If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster.
Today's going to be a short one. I'm blogging just to let you know I'm still alive (I'm sure you've all been sick with worry). I've spent the last 48 hours on drugs. Don't worry, they're the legal kind. Although, I'm starting to suspect my doctor thinks I have a prescription drug problem. This doesn't prevent him from prescribing me drugs (which makes me think he's a pill pusher) but does cause him to explain the "rules" over and over like I am a small child.
Him: This is a narcotic. Do not drive. Don't drink alcohol. Drink lots of water.
Me: Got it.
Him: This is a narcotic. Do NOT drive. DO NOT drink alcohol. Drink LOTS of water.
Me: Yep. Heard ya the first time.
Him: This is a narcotic...
Me: Just give me the damn pills!
Of course, he can't give me actual pills, only a prescription. Personally, I think the whole "drive to a second location to get your drugs" is incredibly annoying and I would start a campaign to change the system but I'm in too much damn pain.
Apparently my doctor knows me too well, because as soon as I picked up my drugs, I ran to my car, twisted off the top and was about to pour six of them in my mouth when I was like wait a minute; I think the doctor said I wasn't supposed to drive.
So, like a good little drug addict, I waited until I got home to pop my pills and ten minutes later, I couldn't feel my limbs as I was crawling my way upstairs and into bed because HOT DAMN these things are strong.
The husband knows me and pills usually don't mix well so he came home to check on me. I lifted my head, said something like, "me...sleep" and then collapsed back on my pillow and drooled on myself.
It's almost time for me to slip back into LaLa Land, but before I go I wanted to share a story in which you will all be extremely proud I didn't cut a bitch.
While I was in the waiting room of the doctor's office, a woman started humming. Can we all just agree that humming is the most annoying sound in the world? I'm usually a "to each his own" kinda person, unless your own infringes upon my own in the most annoying way. Since high-fiving her in the face with a chair is considered impolite, I turned to twitter.
As I'm tweeting about the raping of my eardrums, she gets up from her seat and starts molesting the fake plants.
Rub, rub, rub, rub, rubrubrubrubrubrubrub. "It's fake," she declares to the entire waiting room.
What?! No! Rub it again!
She walks to the next plant and starts rubbing some more. What is that condition where people have relations with inanimate objects? This lady has it. Which, whatever. Hump fake foliage all you want. Just do it on your own time, lady.
She continues on to the third plant. Rub, rub, rub, rub, rubrubrubrubrubrubrub. "It's fake."
You know how some people smoke after sex? Well apparently this woman whistles after she gets off cuz that's what she started doing.
I felt like I was trapped in some sort of sick p0rno/horror movie hybrid.
Finally the nurse calls her husband's name (who was the one in need of medical treatment) and she bounds over to the nurse like a rabbit on crack leaving her poor husband to struggle to his feet for five minutes and shuffle across the room. If only he had a trunk, branches and some tantalizing leaves to wave her face, maybe he would have gotten some attention from his arborphiliac wife.
Huh, this post turned out longer than I thought it would. I blame the drugs. Good night.
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Word of the Day
furcate: to form a fork; branch