I decided to leave my soft, warm house for the big bad world.
Get yer motor running, head out for the highway. Well, actually it’s a crappy state highway. Lots of curves and potholes. Gotta look out for deer and log trucks.
Hush. I’m just going to the post office and maybe the infamous Dollar General. I’ll be fine.
On the way DIL calls and says she going the other way to pick up my new prescriptions.
Wha? More pills. Dang, I missed a memo on that. She further states I need to come to her house after and make cornbread for her. Ok. Sounds fine.
I get the mail and go to the DG. Bad idea. Crowded as usual. I force myself to go in. I bought a couple things and get to check-out w/o drama. The card swiper was on the blink. But I had cash. There was a crowd of customers, nearly riotous, because the machine wasn’t operational. I got outta there, I tell you what.
I head to DILs thinking I’m really early. I stopped at the scary gas station and got a bottle of water and a pkg. of cheese nips. I can eat a few. Really too salty.
Driving down the road, feeling pretty good, blowing salt off tiny crackers. Tunes turned up LOUD! Man, I need to runaway more often! This is fun. Daydreamin’ about a RV and the open road. No diabetes, no more pills, no more kidney. Life could be fun. Hush, beck, you’re depressing yourself!
Ah, well. We’re dealt the hand we’re dealt
I got to DILs. She’s not home yet. I let myself in. I’ll make her cornbread.
Holy crap! Her kitchen is a BIG mess. I don’t know about this girl. Her person is fastidious to a fault. Her kids are always clean. Why is her kitchen always a big mess? I open the dishwasher. They’re not clean. I take out a mixing bowl and add dishes to it and turn it on. I dig around for her cornbread pan. No luck. I start washing her dishes that didn’t fit in the washer. Ah, finally the pan. Sitting in water at the bottom of the sink. Needs seasoning again. Jeez.
I cleaned that whole kitchen, dining area and made her cornbread. She finally gets home. She hung around and picked up the girls at school.
My new meds are not pills. Injections. Big needle, in the muscle steroids. Aaacckkk!
I’m not sure I can do this to myself.:eek:
Get yer motor running. Head out on the highway.
I need to runaway. Now. Please.
Tunes. Loud. Salty cheese nips. Open road. RV.
(I threw the rest of the cheese nips out for the birds to eat, I hope they can have salt)
I can see you lookin’ for adventure in whatever comes your way, but you clearly need a partner in crime to do the shopping en route. I call shotgun. Actually, you probably want someone with good vision to spot meanypants state troupers at a distance. Send me postcards.
Suppose you have to choose between Nurse Ratched with that Jack Torrance gleam in her eye chasing coming at you with her bazooka-sized syringe OR purchasing cat food at Wally World on Black Friday morning. Which would it be? BWAhahahahahaha!
Beck–in your honor, a corndog was consumed this evening.
The bad news is while I was there, the idiot fill in pharmacist neglected to give me both insulin scripts. Words shall be said to her boss after sunrise. Then I get to drive a half hour south and get the scripts
Anything that could go wrong would just mean more adventure. Everyone here has something to contribute. Oh, hell, Beck, get a bus. We’ll call it the Mumpermobile and travel the land with a dog named Boo. Or a cat named Bear. We’ll be a modern Partridge family, only more disheveled, and we play our own instruments: Beckdawrek and Her All Jug Band!
