My rib seems to be roughly back where it started.
Sadly, it hung out with the wrong crowd – ie my ankle and left elbow – for way too long and all the things around the rib are manifesting their abandonment issues by acting out. You know, tantrums…knocking over liquor stores, that sort of thing.
For the last few nights in order to sleep I have needed to take something for pain.
And while I did manage one night to get by on that old medical standard, vodka and Fresca, there has also been use of actual painkillers.
The kind you Discuss With Your Doctor or Pharmacist.
Taking the Big Guns is not typical for me, as evidenced by the need to dispose of bottles of years-passed expired prescriptions that are missing exactly two tablets once I discover them hiding behind the dried-out $40 under-eye circle cream that got me drunk and lied to me.
But it’s interesting when I do take them.
Things are funny. Damned funny.
How did the world get this funny? Have you seen the commercials they’re airing now? THERE’S A TALKING LIZARD GETTING RICH EACH TIME YOU BACK THE CAR INTO YOUR GARAGE DOOR!
And articulate! My god, the announcers at the Australian Open are speaking poetry! The Iliad wrapped up in Shakespeare’s 18th Sonnet is coming out of Patrick McEnroe’s mouth!
My children! They are wise beyond their years and clearly should be writing national addresses for heads of state.
The world becomes a place of epic lyrical humor when I have taken percocet.
So, obviously, I am doing this wrong.
I’m not the one who should be taking the percocet.
You should be the ones taking the percocet.
Cause then this little world becomes a place of epic lyrical humor without me needing to work anywhere near as hard.
So please, for the sake of IPoMP, talk to your Doctor or Pharmacist.