I've been reading and reading -- still determined to start jotting down the hysterical mistakes I come away with due to my bad eyes. Sometimes the plots in fictions take downright odd turns; Scientific texts tend toward the suddenly macabre. At least it has become funny.
My stomach hurts pretty badly, so I am heading out for some yogurt and fruit. Anything to absorb the acid. We're starting the umpteenth medication against GERD and gastritis and ulcers tomorrow, *if* approved by insurance. Something called Dexilant, which, of course, has no generic formulation. Money, money, money...
But if my esophagus and stomach continue their slow leak, I'll never get any zip. Any... you know... desire to do something besides consider, possibly, turning over.
Nah... it's getting better, except for these few bad moments that unfortunately are more likely to make me want to peck at the keyboard than those momentous periods of joy when I'm out dancing in the meadows and jumping rocks in streams. You know, leaping from one granite boulder to the next, foamy eddies swirling -- so cold in these winter months. When I fall in, oh, what a hoot, and we trudge back to the chalet and have hot cocoa with little melted marshmallows.
My stepmother had me believing in marshmallow trees when I was a kid. Also money trees. Trees of any sort, I would believe. Not strong in her botany, my queries as to where things came from were unusually grounded in product-specific trees.
I'm supposed to add Pepcid, too, to the mix. At "bedtime." I have a hard time not laughing at the standard advice, so well-meant. "First thing in the morning..." Wellllll, that could be now, 2:30 AM or that might turn into 1 PM. "Three times a day, before each meal..." If I'm leaking blood, I'm nibbling all the time and there are no meals. If I'm in pain, there is one meal. If someone volunteers to cook, then there might be three meals in a day, but more likely one grand and sumptuous one.
But it is so rude to interrupt and try to explain one's odd habits. It's like the student who drives the teacher nuts with "but at my old school we did it this way." The student who grows into the worker who whines "but at my last job..."
No one cares, we are just all trying to get through this! Do the best you can!
Okay, I hear the piano. Aha! I think I will go scope out the musical action.
|From Blog Planet Pointless|