About a month or so ago, I hit rock bottom. I had stopped taking crazy meds. Long story short, it didn’t work. I found a new doctor, and I’m hoping that this time I’m on the right path. Or at least a better one.
With all of the damn vitamins I’m taking, along with my new cocktail of medication, I had to invest in…a pill organizer. I figure, I’m getting a jump start on my senior years. I went for the easy open model, approved by the National Arthritis Association. I figure, this will help hold its resale value, and when I need to increase my vitamin intake and add in my cholesterol and high blood pressure medication (just forecasting, based on my daily butter intake), I can upgrade to a bigger model. My brain might explode over the extreme organization of it all.
Which segues nicely into my next story.
I was talking to my mother today. She told me my father bought a Keurig, and he was all excited because he got it for a good price with his senior citizens discount.
Mom: What I want to know is how he got his senior citizens discount. Does Target give them every day? I thought senior citizens discounts were only given on Tuesdays?
Me: How the hell am I supposed to know? I know I’m in there often, but…
Mom: Well, next time you’re in there, just ask.
Me: What the hell? Like I’m going to just go up and ask? I mean, really, do you think they’re not going to give me the up and down, and wonder if I’m going to try to play the old lady card? You go and ask.
Mom: I just wanted to know.
And here’s another segue:
I was talking to the bff this afternoon:
Me: So in other news, I automatically aged 20 years this morning, when I bought myself a pill organizer.
Me: I know, seriously dude. And I’m quite proud of it too.
And then somehow, we got into a conversation about a friend of mine who had been in the hospital, insert vague details here:
Me: Yeah, and she was sort of unconscious.
Her: What the hell is sort of unconscious? You’re either unconscious, or your not.
Me: Well, I don’t know what the criteria is for being in a coma. Lightly comatose, severely comatose.
Her: Like sort of dead?
Me: That totally exists!
Her: Isn’t that an oxymoron? You’re either dead or you’re not. There’s no in between.
Me: What about those people that die on the table for a couple of minutes and then come back? That’s sort of dead, but not totally.
Her: Yeah, I’m not buying it.
Me: I’m asking the internet.
It’s been a banner day here. Now if you’ll excuse me, my back is killing me.
But really, dead, or sort of dead? What’s your feelings on this?