A bad doctor’s diagnosis on Tuesday, two more medications and ultra strict regime has put me in a foul mood all week. Foul: better described as puckish and unusually snarky. (“Unusually?” you might be thinking. Try me.)
Granted, it’s only Thursday. But the kind of exaggeration that turns two-and-a-half days into a week is just one of the many side-affects.
On Twitter I described my latest medication (quite accurately, I might add) as “I’m now shooting silver up my nose three times daily…” and Bradley replied, “is coke just too cheap for your tastes?”
Which got me thinking. My sister-in-law’s recent (and my grandfather’s long-term) campaign against caffeine made me realize that the general difference between actual drugs and the pejorative term “drug” is the addictive quality of the substance. But it has occurred to me on several occasions (and I’m not suggesting this as a health-care trend) that it would make it a lot easier to not forget to take my medications, if they were even just slightly addictive.
That reminds me. I’ll be right back . . .
. . . I would forget to eat or sleep if everyone else didn’t do it regularly. (Another thing my doctor says I must not do.)
So I guess I don’t qualify as a druggie, despite the heavy-metal inhalant. I am beginning to look like one.
This started yesterday when I was getting ready for work and putting on my makeup. In a moment of mad inspiration I decided instead of applying the eye-shadow to the eye lid, to use it to draw dark shadows underneath. Whoever said experience in stage-makeup doesn’t come in handy? (It’s precisely for moments like these that I don’t buy shimmery eye-shadow.)
My real point was not to try to prove something to the universe by making myself look as horrible as I generally feel—I kind of just wanted to see if anyone would notice and say something.
No one did.
Perhaps I should have gone with purple eyeshadow, instead of brown?
There was one odd and unprecedented hugging incident. And the poor person looked very concerned and hugged quite earnestly, and gave me the distinct feeling that I was dying. (I’m not, calm down.)
So, if you see me around and it looks like my health has taken a turn for the worst—it really has. But I wouldn’t judge too much by appearances.
And, although I’m not dying . . . a hug would be nice.