Morning 10

My morning 10 pills, not morning 10 minutes of break time, as most people would be taking at this of day in the "working world." I feel as though I'm doing because I really have something to say, but it is yet another prescription. This one from Marcel*. Not his real name of course. Nothing and no one has a real name of course...not my therapist, who is the one who prescribed resurrecting my blog, and the doctors are the ones who have prescribed the many pills that I take. The writing is trying to get done before I get to loopy to get the writing done. Sword is beyond double edged, it is threatening to leap into my hands and tempt me greatly to navigate from this page to one hari-kari, or however you spell it. Perhaps spell checking that one is not such a great idea.

Anyway, no one seems to have a real name anymore. Not Marcel, the therapist who prescribes blogging. I imagine he would be better as a merciless Frenchman, chain smoking through our sessions and then with a thick French accent, saying only "Hmph," and "You, get to yer computer. Tell these problems to the Internet. Perhaps you will find someone in cyberspace who cares. As for me, I must go get cafe. See you in two weeks. Au revoir." I hate the French. But Marcel, he is actually pretty cool, even though he isn't French, and doesn't chain smoke. Maybe I can ask him to at my next appointment.

Even my pills go by pet names. Moby Dick is my anti-inflammatory, which I find strange, since it is the smallest of them all. But, I think that is because it's real name is Mobic and I couldn't keep it straight. Again, ironic since it has the shortest name, too. Not easy when you're dealing with mashed potato brain from so much Xanax (the only medication that is also a palindrome. Therefore Xanax is my pal.) Gabapentin is just too big a mouthful, literally and figuratively, and so is just Gabby (and is nice in public, when my friend asks me if I "Have Gabby with me." Sounds more like we are checking to see which of us is making social plans, than if I have meds.) The one that makes me laugh the most is Flomax. I started taking Protonix, which, not surprisingly, is to handle stomach upset. I was struggling for about 6 weeks with such stomach pains that I had finally gotten to a diet of just bananas and rice cereal, which seemed ok to me, but to my boyfriend seemed to be a sign that perhaps something was terribly wrong. That, and I was gassing him out of the bedroom so badly every night that he was keeping air freshener by the beside just to survive.

After just a day or two on the Flomax...I was FINE. Apparently it heals up torn up gut stuff, and all those other pills: the Moby Dick, Pal, Gabby, and all of the other pain stuff, muscle relaxants, anti-depressants, ADD meds, etc. that they've got me taking just to keep me from doing the hari-kari thing that gets so tempting on the days that they don't work tend to rip up the stomach lining in the process. It didn't even take a day before Protonix became Flomax. So, my apologies to all the drug companies out there: but your stuff just doesn't really matter that much, as far as what it's called. What it does, is keep me sitting up, sometimes walking, and apparently from killing myself. That's good. And Shakespeare already covered all that "What's in a name?" stuff a loooong time ago, so don't get all in a huff over copyright infringement, and be glad you're making sure folks walk, talk, digest lasagna and keep from jumping out windows.

Even Marcel probably doesn't probably care what he's called, as long as he keeps people from killing themselves. How he keeps from killing himself after the patients walk out his door is a whole 'nother story. Maybe he does chain smoke. This is probably why he never has an office higher than the second floor: it's not just for the safety for his patients, it's for himself, too. I wonder what he does for his Morning 10?