Down the Rabbit Hole

Pill Popping

My arm is aching. The throbbing pain drove me from bed and into the bathroom where I only briefly thought about the expiration date on my pain medication bottle before popping one of the big white pills. By this afternoon, when the agony inspired me to take another, I'd all about convinced myself that expiration dates on medications were a pharmaceutical ploy for making more money. The pain has dulled considerably but the familiar drowiness has replaced it. I'm tired of this. I'm exhausted by the heat and by this condition that renders me almost uselss for a week at a time. I get the baby to sleep only to drop off myself. I wake with the dawn and leave the house, feeling like I have only a passing notion of my husband. I'm sick of this condition, when my progress can be marked in tiny, insipid little steps like getting a third of the dirty dishes done, getting the baby's clean clothes up the stairs but not into her closet or printing out pages to be edited that end up remaining in the manila envelope they traveled home in.
It could be worse, I always tell myself, knowing it can and saying a prayer that it isn't. Instead of giving into the desire to nap at my desk, I distract myself with busy work. I chased my host of vitimens and probiotics with an orchard peach, which like most all peaches, looked far better than it tasted. Peaches disappoint me as a rule, never as sweet and promising as their tantilizingly soft, blushing flesh implies. On the plus side, it appears I'll have a deal to work on soon. It has been very quiet and with the Fall selling season nearly upon us, we are due for some activity.