I lied to my doctor. I wanted pills for the flight, since one of the many transatlantic flights I will be taking in these these next few months is economy. I asked for Valium, and he gave me Xanax. I�m learning how the pharmaceutical requests work: ask for more than you want, and they will give you the next level down. If I ask for Vicodin, they will give me extra-strength ibuprofen, which scares me because I don�t like the idea of what it�s doing to my liver. But Vicodin and Xanax, which change the brain chemistry, are okay I guess.
So I took a half a pill pre-flight, per the doctor�s orders, with a glass of wine, per my orders, to see how it would effect me. So far, there is fuzziness and a fatigue, but that could just be because I awoke early to make it to my laser hair removal appointment and had a shitty night�s sleep because I slept at Sam's, and hosting each other is something we do to, rather than for, each other.
�We�ve got to stop the retribution,� she said last night. I assured her the cycle would be broken when she next comes to visit me, that she will have her own room and an actual bed to sleep on.
�But no ceiling,� I said. I kid, I kid.
We talked about when we�re all going to have babies, how Sam and Erin will each have a gestation period from the sperm of their choice, how I wasn�t so interested in having kids until I started dating the boyfriend, and now my body�s like, �Hey there, about making babies, just so you know: we�re ready for ya!� I need a few years, body.
And if it doesn�t happen, there are so many other things to do.