Not a surprising title, you might say, from a person who has spent the past two days in a Vicodin-induced slumber. But, this post is not even about that. Except a little, just for those of you who want to know.
The wisdom teeth surgery went fine. My last memories are of Dr. Filler patting my hand as the nurse pumped something intoxicating into my IV. “This will feel really good,” he assured me. “It’s okay to enjoy it. It’s totally legal.” So, with my mind thus set at ease, I slipped off into Drugland. There I stayed for about two days, awakening to eat some soup or take some more pills, never experiencing the bloody drool or the swollen and bruised face I had been warned about. I won’t go into any more detail about those days because I have trouble distinguishing between what really happened and what I dreamed.
Anyway, About 36 hours after the whole procedure began, I drove myself home. Other than some slight discomfort when it gets to be time for some more prescription-strength ibuprofen, I’m all good.
Now on to the non-surgical moments where life just hasn’t added up lately(for better or for worse):
Temporary (but great while it lasts) unreality #1: I have the mother of all excuses to be completely self-gratifying. If I don’t feel like returning phone calls, I don’t. If I want to eat a milkshake for lunch, I will. If I want to eat mashed potatoes for dinner, I will. If I want to sleep really late, I will. Blame it all on the meds.
Unreality #2: I walk in to our bedroom to find Stephen actually explaining to the dogs that “getting up on the bed with Dad is a privilege, not a right.” This means that they can get up when he wants company but do not have free access.
Unreality #3: I sat in on a conversation today between my husband and my baby brother, in which they agreed that the key to living life with no regrets is to never kiss an ugly girl.
Unreality #4: I swept and Swiffered the floor today. Then I reclined on the rug to enjoy “The One With Phoebe’s Birthday Dinner” and what do I see? MORE Phoebe hair on the floor! It is as if this new house is in some sort of alternate universe in which dog hair rapidly multiplies upon turning loose from the dog’s scalp. Gross.
Moral: Truth is stranger than drug-induced hallucinations.