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There Needs To Be A Pill20.November.2005I'm having a birthday this month. Much of what has happened to me recently, I blame on that fact. The last couple of months have kept me fairly busy, what with all the aging and falling apart and having procedures done to my body. I support a veritable 'whose who' of medical professionals.The only upside to this whole season has been the legal narcotics prescribed for me by various specialists. Indeed, I'm a walking cornucopia of pharmaceutical delectables. I have pills that take away the pain, pills to make me sleep, something to lower my cholesterol, pills to lower my anxiety about taking pills that make me sleep because a side effect of those pills might be death and we all know how anxiety ridden that can make you. So far I have yet to be given a pill that keeps my memory on track. That's what I really need. On Monday I put two pieces of bread into the toaster, then I picked up the knife, put some butter on it and began to butter the plate. As I stood there contemplating the various and sundry reasons why I had landed in this position I realized that it wasn't my fault. It's that whole TIME MARCHING ON thing. When it began it's march I had an entire brain. Now it's reduced to something resembling swiss cheese. I found the toast in the toaster later in the evening when I was trying to remember what it was I was supposed to be making for dinner. This morning I borrowed my friend's car because it has her son's car seats in it and I had to go somewhere with them. Anyone who knows anything about car seats knows that trying to belt in a car seat these days is like wrasseling a greased pig or a politician. You end up hot and sweaty and not smelling so great. My neighbor is a shorter woman than I am so when I opened her drivers side door I pushed the electronic seat mover thingy to make the seat go waaaaay back. I have long legs. Once it was sufficiently back far enough, I climbed in and closed the door. The seat immediately began moving forward towards the steering wheel. I couldn't stop it, I felt for the button on the side of the seat but couldn't find it, and the seat kept moving forward, pressing me against the steering wheel. It was getting hard to breath or move, I was panicked. Do I call 911 and beg them to bring the jaws of life to extract me from this vicious car? I was trapped. Struggling for breath, I finally unwedged my coat from between the door and and the seat and it stopped moving me forward. My coat had been pressing on the button and squashing me like a bug. I pushed it back and was able to regain enough room to inflate my lungs once more. Ah! Breath! Freedom! Life! If my brain had been functioning on a level higher than, oh say, a paramecium's, then I would have figured out how to extract myself before I broke a rib. Such was not the case. I know I must have a pill for that somewhere. |
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editor's note: due to stoopid people who can't behave in public (ie, spammers) we have had to turn off the comment feature on our older columns. We'll try waiting a while and then turning it back on to see if they get bored and go away. In the mean time, we will manually add any REAL comments if you email them to us. The link is below.
Scripts modified from Matt Wright's guestbook. His scripts can be found at Matt's Script Archive
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