This morning I awoke even more fuzzy in the brain than usual. I think it’s because I actually slept all night last night, since the wind was not causing the loose piece of aluminum roofing to bang into the side of the building at unpredictable intervals, or to howl through the trees like a broomstick witches’ convention.
So when I remembered to take my morning meds (which is an unpredictable thing in itself), I picked up my med box which looks like this:
which, as you can see, is clearly marked “morning” and “evening.” OK, it’s a bit more complicated than that, but I use the top part for morning and the bottom part for evening, and that way I can have a two weeks’ supply of meds already prepared, and all I have to do is remember to take them.
So this morning I was quite proud of myself, as I headed for my med box, that I was remembering to take the morning ones, which always seems to be a challenge for me; perhaps it is because my brain is always still fuzzy from the evening sucker-punch dose that makes it possible for me to sleep.
Quite fortunately, I caught myself at the very last moment, about to take a dose of the evening cocktail! What a disaster that would have been! I would have slept all day, for certain, since the evening concoction contains a regular mickey of antipsychotics and benzodiazepines, with ten milligrams of zolpidem for good measure. I usually augment that with a little bit of alcohol (don’t try this at home), which brings on a state of oblivion quite nicely.
The problem with this cocktail, even without the alcohol, is that it makes me ataxic (can’t walk). If I have to get up to use the bathroom (in my present rustic hideaway, that means the pee jar), I have to hold onto things to keep from falling. I have been known to have to crawl if nothing is available to hold onto.
So if I had accidentally gone ahead and taken my evening meds in the daytime, my day would have been for shit, and I would have had to cancel on taking care of my dad, which was the main plan for today. And not only would I have missed out on my cherished visit with Dad, but it would have pissed off Mom, which is always a shrek.
But perhaps there is really a G-d. I have been worrying about that lately, whether there is or is not; and it does bother me that here I have been trying my best to live a religious life, and more or less suddenly I am getting this attack of what seems to be atheism.
At the very moment that I realized my potentially disastrous mistake and drew back my hand as if the pill case had been red-hot, I considered once again whether there could be an element of divine intervention at work. After considering this for about three milliseconds, I downed the morning dose of pills and went on preparing the stainless steel travel vessel of tea to take to drink at Dad’s, since they don’t have any decent tea there and I like my own.