I am with stupid, and stupid is with me. I drop, or knock over everything I touch.
Disclaimer: Male readers, now's the time you might want to peruse the Archives. Perhaps check out the Kids in the Kitchen section for an easy recipe to do with your kids. If your wife is displaying similar symptoms, you might want to help with dinner tonight. Just saying.
|Yeah....'cept, not that kind.|
Ok, a bit dramatic, especially since these visits have been quite regularly - minus those months of pregnancy and nursing - since I was about 13 years old. You'd think I'd be an old hand by now. You'd think I'd be less klutzy, less stupid: less of a raving bitch that wants to climb on top of the roof with a semi-automatic rifle, yelling: "Get in the House! Get in the fucken house right now! Don't roll your eyes at me, ingrate. I can make another one that looks just like you!"
Seriously. It used to be much easier. Sure, I'd get a bit spacey and forgetful; maybe drop a few things -- that telltale big ole zit foreshadowing it's arrival. But it basically just came and went without much trouble. As I have entered late 30's and now 40, it seems to descend with all the surprise and fury of a sudden tropical storm. I am tired, in pain, a literal mess. And often, there's no real warning.
Perhaps there should be someone on "Storm Rory" watch. Patiently standing in front of a green screen, ever watchful:
"This is Flo Maxi, live at WTF Weather News. All appears quiet and calm today, there's a bit of a wind, but no sign of any real danger....Wait! wait...she's entered the house....I see, is it? Oh God! She's got Motrin, dill pickle chips, a too tall Chai Latte, and a super size Oh Henry! This is it folks. If you still have time....get the kids! Get in the cellar!"
I know, we all suffer to some degree. Some even way more than I. So I can learn to deal with dropping a few things, tripping over others for a few days. I can take enough medication to deal with the pain. Hell, the amount would likely euthanize an elephant. I can do exercise, yoga.. tequila shots to deal with the moodiness. Hot baths calm the cramping quite nicely.
But this stupidity? This thick fog that encompasses my aching head, that even copious amounts of caffeine cannot clear? I fear that might be a symptom that sticks. That the porch light will not just dim, but blow out entirely. That I will remain forever the dullest knife in the drawer. Feel free to insert your own euphemism (crap, had to look up that spelling). Monthly activity must be planned around the dreadful event now. Because I probably shouldn't be around people too much. That is -- if I can remember where it is I am supposed to be, and what I am supposed to be doing. It has taken forever to
Because I am worried folks, if I get any dumber, one of you may have to come over and water me.
Better bring coffee and chocolate too -- it's for your own protection.