Two Forward, One Back

Today has been weird. I have a lot of weird days, even before the pandemic, but this one just kinda glows in the dark. Woke up with a low-grade fever, which meant no going into the office, which meant slower internet speed here at home and a potentially much less productive workday.

Last night's poaching-of-the-sinuses-in-the-shower caused me to show up at the pharmacy shortly after it had closed for the day. At first I was irritated at the change of hours, but I told myself I was not going to be a "Karen" [noun, pejorative] and started coming up with, and enunciating, reasons why it was good that the pharmacy was closing earlier than I was used to. One attitude, brought to heel and sent marching in the proper direction.

So this morning I logged on as usual and emailed my office manager that I would be nipping out at 10:00 (when the pharmacy opened) to pick up my prescriptions. There were five or six cars ahead of me when I arrived, so I worked a jigsaw puzzle on my phone until it was my turn. [Note to self: email Sister to thank her again for introducing me to that app.]

As I remarked on Facebook, you know you're looking a bit rough when the pharmacy tech tells you to go home and bundle up. I thanked him and told him I'm glad that he and the others get to go home to their families a little earlier now, and that they've been working very hard for a very long time. (After finishing Thor and watching Avengers and getting a respectable if not ideal amount of sleep, I had internalized my course correction, so I was not the Pharisee praying on the street corner to be seen by men. More like Loki after Hulk whomped him about and walked off muttering "puny god.")

I came home by way of Whataburger, because nothing says love like greasy potatoes, and because the sausage in their breakfast-on-a-bun is just spicy enough to help clear my head. For my drink, I got a small Dr. Pepper milkshake. Yes, we all know that I don't like Dr. Pepper, no matter how long I've lived in Texas. It is a truth universally acknowledged (thank you, Jane) that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds (thank you, Oscar).

For me, the ice cream overcomes the cloying sweetness which is Dr. Pepper. Remember, also, that the reverse is true: I love peanut butter. I adore chocolate, the darker the better. And I cannot abide Reese's cups, pieces, et al. While Nutella is another word for manna. Don't ask me. I just live here.

Where was I?

Pulled into the driveway. Parked Diana and turned off the engine. Fell asleep, but only for a brief moment. Wrangled everything into the house (dropping my breakfast sandwich, but not my shake, onto the welcome mat as I wrestled with the lock), emailed my office manager that I was wiped out, ate my sandwich, and went back to bed. The lamp by my bed is momentarily stuck in the on position, and I was not in the mood to shift the mattress and unplug it, so I just threw the covers over my head and slept almost until quitting time.

I've had one dose of rescue inhaler, and it's time for another. I've read the literature for both prescriptions, and I'll need to be extremely careful. The rescue inhaler can mess with my glucose levels, and people over 65 might have unspecified problems. I won't take the maintenance tablet until I've discussed it with my doctor, because it can seriously play hob with one's mental health, and I really don't want to add suicidal ideation to my current list of challenges.

But right now I'll take breathing for $500, Alex.