July 2008

For the last few days I actually thought I had fooled the doctors into thinking I had fibromyalgia and needed pain pills. Did I lie? On purpose? For years? What was I thinking?

This morning, stepping out of bed, I discovered that my carpet had been replaced with large, sharp gravel. Next, a decision: potty first or kitchen for a Vicodin? Potty was closest, so I chose that one, then hobble-de-hobble to the kitchen for the elongated white caplet that, in about an hour, would allow me to do more complicated things, like get a cup of coffee.

Okay, so I'm not a liar. I'm not even an undiscovered actress with Emmy potential. I'm just a nice lady who really and truly needs to schluck all those pills.

Let's see, what's on the agenda this morning? Now that the pain is receding and I can do more than huddle in a pathetic ball and wait for the minutes to click by, I can afford to think in terms of agendas and plans. Hmmm. Oh, that's right. Nothing.

But it's a beautiful day. Maybe I'll take a blanket and a book and go sit by the pool until it's time for the next Vicodin. Now that's a plan.