Sep 11 2008
Bitten by the Bad Day Bug
Dear Akismet,
Do you really have to ask if a comment containing the phrase “father/son sex porn” with 92,000 links is spam?
Best regs,
Ker
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My arthritis is killing me today. Early this morning, I thought it was just my hands, but when I had my little “oops” (details to follow) and had to change my clothes, reaching back to unhook my bra made my elbows and joints crack like… something crackly. I went to work screaming for a shot. Since I ordinarily wouldn’t complain if I had a sucking chest wound, they actually took me seriously, gave me a shot and a prescription for Vicodin (is there not some middle ground between Advil and friggin’ Vicodin? something non-narc so I can have samples? because underpaid, uninsured medical workers can’t afford retail pharmaceuticals, just sayin’), and sent me home because they can’t work me like a dog in my present condition.
The “oops” occurred when I brought a beverage to my lips and the liquid had just begun to spill from the glass to my mouth and, entirely without warning, I sneezed, not only dispersing the flow of liquid but sending a burst of compressed air into the glass, resulting in an explosion of liquid, a veritable geyser that sprayed everything within a five-foot radius in all directions.
What was that liquid? Cranapple juice. Could have had water, but no. Went for the red stuff. I believe the sneeze was the Goddess Anorexia’s way of punishing me for consuming a beverage with calories, and I will be reminded of this lesson for years to come, because (a) I’m sure I’ll be finding really ambitious splatters in other rooms when I move furniture in the future, (b) cranapple juice is instantaneously absorbed deep into semigloss paint, vinyl floor tile, and laminate countertop, so that even wiping down 60 seconds after splatter will not prevent pretty pink stains, and (c) I have a stylish bouse and skirt ensemble presently suitable only for wearing during activities such as painting the house. That’s right. Couldn’t happen on one of the 362 scrubs-or-jeans-and-company-polo-shirt days this year. Had to happen on Look Professional Day.
So I have a few hours off. I can’t even think of something crackly, so dashing off a chapter or two ain’t gonna happen. I can’t hold a book open because that is the Official Position of Utmost Agony for the 2008 Arthritic Games.
Guess I’ll go back to bed. And lie there. Cursing the invisible demons crushing my joints beneath their cloven hooves.
*checks beneath sofa cushions for change* Maybe I can afford ONE Vicodin…
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September 11th, 2008 at 11:22 pm
I’m so sorry you’re in pain. *raises a glass of non-pink-staining-liquid to your imminent recovery*
September 12th, 2008 at 7:29 am
Angelic Daughter made me peanut butter cookies with minimum momvolvement, which helped muchly.
Demon Dog, on the other hand, gacked twice, peed 3 times, and left 2 presents because she wasn’t getting my undivided attention.
I confess, I had inhumane thoughts.
September 12th, 2008 at 10:52 am
Why do they always do that when you’re least able to deal with it? I’d be threatening said canine with the honor of being the main course at my next dinner party.