I’ve not had much going on lately. I’m in kind of a holding pattern waiting to see if the new meds work or if they make me into a raging psychopath (I’ve been getting a little bitchy lately so I’m starting to worry). However…
The other day my lovely granddaughter M was running around naked. She’s almost 15 months old but still has the super chubby baby leg rolls and chubby tummy and little chubby baby cheeks and only a little hair so she looks much younger than she is. Basically she’s adorable naked and she loves to have her diaper off so we indulge her before bath time. She was over by my husband and I saw she had something in her hand headed toward her mouth (everything goes in her mouth). I ran over to her saying, “Punkin, what have you got?” I held out my hand. She stopped her hand traveling to her mouth and placed what was in her hand into mine. It was bright playdoh green, lumpy, hard and warm. I looked at it confused unable to grasp what she could have gotten a hold of until it finally dawned on me. I said out loud, “It’s poop.”
My husband looked at me and goes, “What?”
“It’s poop.” I said again and held me hand out palm up with the piece of poop laying in it like an offering. With my other hand I grabbed M’s hand so she could not put her hand in her mouth.
“Ewww...” was my husband’s contribution.
I started yelling for my daughter because now that I was trying to keep M from putting her hand in her mouth she was determined to do it and was pulling against me as hard as she could.
My daughter comes wandering in from the kitchen. “It’s poop.” And I hold it out again. I guess I was hoping someone would take it from me but no. She gets the baby and I go to get rid of my smelly hand companion.
Z, my other granddaughter, comes running over, “I want to see.” So I stop my bathroom trek and turn around with the poop still balanced on my palm so she can admire her sister’s work.
Finally I get to the bathroom and dump the poop and scrub my hand.
I’ve not been feeling very funny lately or even slightly, remotely entertaining.My meds got lazy slacker like and quit doing their job so instead of feeling witty and engaging I’ve been feeling kind of zombie-like.Well, what I imagine a zombie would feel like.Having never been one I can only assume.I mean I feel kind of emotionally distant/dead not that I want to eat brains.I think brains would be kind of chewy and possibly hard to swallow, kind of like a raw oyster except less snotty like.Please do not get me started on intestines….I mean its bad enough to eat sausage casing, can you imagine eating it when it hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned first,that would just be ewwww. Another symptom of my meds playing the slacker kid who lives in the basement smoking pot and playing video games is that I can’t focus. But you never would have guessed that right?
So now I have to start this long, complicated process of weaning myself off of one med while starting to take another and I have to take pills at certain times of days for so many days and who does the doctor think I am? I can barely remember the way to work, how I am going to take these pills correctly? You all are going to see me on the news where I chopped someone up and probably ate their intestines because I know I’m going to get my dosage wrong and go mental.
I thought about telling the doctor to just put me in the hospital so they can make sure I am monitored while going through this but then I thought, “No…then everyone will know I’m crazy.” Because, really I’ve been keeping it under wraps to the general public so well. I just really don’t want the people I work with to know I have issues.
But I can let you guys know because I don’t work with you and you won’t tell anyone, right? RIGHT?