My little stormtrooper of a Doctor comes flying into the room and says, “I hear this misery has hit you at the worst possible moment in your life. Tell me about it.” I start to list all my glorious symptoms, only to hear her say, “No… tell about where you are going!” When I start to cry and get all weepy about missing our trip, “The nine year old is devastated…” she stops me cold. “Oh, you
are so going! You are going to be great in no time flat. TRUST ME.”
You should meet my doctor. She’s this tiny little ball of wonder who refuses to let her patients be sicker any longer than necessary. She deals the GOOD stuff and believes in being proactive. Turns out, this creepy little virus triggered an asthma attack. Not only have I been hacking, I’ve been without the appropriate rest and oxygen to get better. Then there is the looking a tinge green
business. It’s nice to know that I don’t have to produce a bit of my lung to get an inhaler,
because I’m rather attached to my lungs. I like my lungs. (Hey Pam, I like my Lips… heh)
Four scripts later, I’m sitting here finally able to breathe. Sure, I feel completely disconnected. You would too, if you had my cocktail of meds coursing through your veins. And speaking of meds.
If you aren’t a meth head in Oregon, you can skip the following rant.
NOTE TO THE METH HEADS OF OREGON: Would it have killed you to pick a less USEFUL drug to abuse? Huh? I do understand and appreciate that one has an urge from time to time to be self-destructive. I, too, on occasion have found myself with a box of powdered donuts and a Beverly Hills 90210 marathon. However, my stupidity is harmless. I hurt no one when I shout at the T.V. “Braawndon Walshhh, you’re soth nowt strwaightn.” Heck, who can understand me with all that donut in my mouth?
But your stupidity not only harms you and the people around you, it has precipitated in a change of legislation. Not only are you meddling in the highest levels of society but you are messing with my head. No longer can a normal human being with a head cold get Sudaphed over the counter. Instead, we must be content with a lesser form of medication–and by lesser I mean, useless. And by content I mean spending the night dancing the one nostril cha-cha. First you sleep on your left until that side clogs–then flip, you turn over on your right side waiting for the pressure to close your last open passage. Gasp for air, gasp for air. Repeat. This is not sleep. This is torture.
So, while I’m willing to live and let die, as your case may be–I’m not so inclined to DIE myself for your choice in stupidity. On behalf of all of Oregon suffering with this terrible virus, I would just like to say. . . thank you. Yes, that’s sarcasm.
As for me, it’s time to remedicate. This whole ordeal is going to give new meaning to the term, flying high.
