Blogging Under The Influence

Rumor has it that my long awaited insurance card will be in the mailbox tomorrow. I am skeptical, but hopeful. Today I need to drive 25 miles to the pharmacy and 25 miles back to retrieve prescription drugs for He Who knows not what he takes.

I moved very carefully all morning, hoping to delay the pain meds until I return from my jaunt. The pills won't be ready until after lunch. I am thinking I should not drive while drugged. For my safety and the safety of the other cars on the road with me. I realize this is not how most people think. I am funny like that.

My shoulder is screaming and my head is hurting. The muscles in my neck are knotting and to top everything off I am awash with nausea. I sip my coffee ever so carefully and sit with my head cradled in a pillow and my eyes closed, waiting for it to pass. My sweet little Cujo is nestled close, providing warmth to my thigh.

As I start to feel a wee bit better and think that I can make it until after the trip to the pharmacy, disaster strikes. Toni Louise decided she was being left out and needed some affection. My eyes were closed, so I did not see her approach and leap up. She stood there with her hind legs on the arm of the chair and her front feet digging into my sick shoulder. Her nose sniffing away at my eyelids.

I admit that I did not receive her affection kindly. I lifted her offending front paws off my shoulder and shoved her to the floor. She is hard to offend, my Toni Louise. She took this as an invitation to play and started running small circles and attempting to jump into my lap. Wall-E, who can easily read my moods, immediately hid under the table and Cujo simply clung closer to me.

I succumbed to the pain and took my meds, then called He Who Tows and told him to pick up his own meds. Now that I am feeling less pain I am disappointed that I cannot drive. I need to do a big grocery run and I want to do it alone. If I let He Who loves junk food take me, the bill will be twice as much and last half as long.

To top everything off, my old guy, Oscar, has been whiny. He got me up twice last night to lap up copious amounts of water. He walks around and whines for food and treats. I feed him and it shows. He is heavy. I need to take him to the vet, I suppose. I know what she will say, though. Stop feeding him every time he cries. But she doesn't have to listen to his pitiful whining. He equates treats with love. He is not content with my scratching his belly and kissing his head. He is old and I just want him to be happy. I know, I know, he is too fat.

Thank goodness I can blog while medicated.