| Three shots of morphine later I asked for the Percocet well before any of the morphine had even begun to wear off. All I said was that I was crampy and they offered it up. Who am I to refuse? It was such an automatic response. Do you want a Percocet? Why yes, thank you. Do you want some air to breathe? But of course. In my head, it's that easy no matter how wasted I already am.
It didn't matter that I couldn't feel the leg things they put on you after surgery. I didn't even know they were there until an hour later when I noticed that my legs were sweating and I pulled back the sheets to see why.
"Wow, what's on my legs?" I managed to slur out of my mouth.
"Those are those compression stockings they put on you so you don't get blood clots." Martha sighed.
"I'm hot, take them off." I said sounding like a fussy five year old.
"You're a junkie, I swear to god. Why don't you sit up, you look ashen. Let's TRY to get it together so we can go. I want to go home." Martha pressed.
Even though I was moving at a snails pace, I did understand her point. We had been at the hospital for four hours, the last three of which I had been happily fucked up, Martha, not so much. I just had trouble getting my body to work. I barely remember her dragging me down the hall. I sort of remember waving at the nurses station. I have a vague memory of waiting in front of the hospital for her to pull the car around and I think it was raining but after that...
Some clarification is needed here. I am not a junkie, nor am I a drug seeker, as they are sometimes called. I do not loiter around the hospital waiting for a chance to be fucked up. I look at it this way. I am not going to pass up the opportunity for a good buzz and I mean really, if someone is going to scrape my uterus then the least they can do is fuck me up for the day. Right? I didn't get a drug doggie bag so really, all I had was what I could eat there.
The new calendar is here!!! It's supercool, on different glossy stock and $50.00 bucks a pop BUT here is the deal. If you break it down, wait let me get the Sharp Solar Powered Calculator...
Okay, if you break it down $50.00 ÷ 13 (that is right folks 13 months not just 12 but 13!). Where was I? Right $50.00 ÷ 13 = $3.85 a photo, a month. What a deal! I know it is like the death of our evil consumer ways but you gotta have something to look at all year long. You need somewhere to write down all those interview dates and doctors appointments. Think of the spooky black and white pleasure my little calendar could bring you for over a whole year. That is 395 days (remember, 13 months) of happiness, or 0.13 cents a day people!
So Tuesday, right, voting. Jesus Christ, I'm scared.
On Tuesday, I'll be over at the American Legion Hall, (a stronghold of the republican party for sure), working the polls;
(No Jasmine slow down and reread the sentence. I did not write that I was working the pole.)
Side note: That reminds me of a moment at my fathers weirdo funeral when the creepy Mason's were standing in front of his open coffin reciting their weirdo Masonic Funeral Service, specifically the part where the 'Master reads the Sacred Roll'. He said, "Wayne Schneider was a Master Mason." Jasmine thought he said Wayne Schneider was a Masturbator.
Only an advanced stage of Alzheimer's is going to make me forget that.
Good lord, anyway.
I volunteered to work the polling place for three hours on Tuesday. I am a poll watcher. I have to write down the name and party of each registered voter. I'm not supposed to talk to anyone, chat with voters or use my cell phone. Sounds perfect.
I must say I'd feel a tad better about our political process if there weren't four typos on the instruction sheet. Oh sure, I have typos out the ass but I'm not trying to make sure the presidential election voting process works seamlessly.
Later on election evening, we are having (gasp) friends over to hang out (bigger gasp) to watch the results. We are all going to be either very happy or very sad. One way will be joy and happiness and the other, according to Martha, will end with her sobbing uncontrollably in the fetal position in a dark closet.
I'd rather the neighbors not see that, but hey, that's part of the charm in getting to know us. |  | | The Masterpiece |  | | Cloud Walking | |
