I may have mentioned before I have a bad back. Much badness of back, in fact. I deal with it by complaining (the main reason for this blog) and lots and lots of daily vicodins. Vicodin is a miracle drug composed of hydrocodone (yay) compounded with either Tylenol or ibuprofin (so very not yay.) I alternate between the two to avoid poisoning myself because, well, because I don’t want to poison myself.
Everything’s fine until Walgreens fucked my refill last week and suddenly I’m left with only the Tylenol one and I’m reduced to taking half the dosage I usually do. I was worried about some withdrawal nightmare like that scene in Lady Sings the Blue with Diana Ross in the bughouse. EEks. But no, because I am apparently tougher than Diana Ross and Billie Holiday combined. Or maybe I am not shooting heroin. Could be.
Anyway, what actually happened was all the little aches and pains from being a crotchety old man rose to the surface; everything I’ve bumped or bruised or banged up has come back to haunt me. Ow. Ow. Ow. Owowowowowowow.
When I meditate, I concentrate on each part of my body in turn, start with my head and work down to my feets. Typically what little focus I can scrape up is distracted by random thoughts like
- Do I need more orange juice?
- How come the professor couldn’t fix the boat to get them off Gilligan’s Island?
- How hard would it be to spread a rumor on the web that MJ from Infomaniac is really a man?
- Is Saki scratching the leather chair?
- What’s that noise?
Things like that.
Now, each body part has to compete with all the ouchie ones. I’m trying to concentrate on my right shoulder and my left little toe chimes in to remind me I broke it thirty years ago falling naked down the stairs of a bathhouse in Seattle. Shouting at it to shut up is one thing when I’m here at home alone with the cat, another completely when I’m in the steam room at the Kabuki spa.
Finally, after several very firm discussions with the pharmacist, I got all my doses back in a row and the sun is all shiny and I am back to slowly destroying my liver and kidneys. Get to work, slacker bitches, that’s what you’re there for.
|If I had more muscles, they would just ache more, so it all works out in the end.|