My head was killin’ me today. Killin’ me. It rained all weekend and, this mornin’, the barometric pressure was intense. Bad weather always affects my head. It always makes it hurt.
I hate sinus headaches and, about a week ago, this one came to visit. And, today, it had over-stayed its welcome…by about 7 days.
And, this much was obvious, it wasn’t gonna leave on its own. It was gonna have to be encouraged…strongly encouraged…by me…to do what I needed it to do. Get out of my head.
And, to do that, to force it out, to throw it out the front doors of my perception, I was gonna need some help. I was gonna have to resort to my last resort. I was gonna have to break down and buy some sudafed.
Now, I guess those concerned about trade mark and copy right infringement think I ought to call the med by its generic name, “pseudoephedrine,” but I’ve no time to care about what they think.
I’m in pain.
A pain more life affectin’ than any kind of corporate harassment.
Besides, if the folks who make sudafed come down on me, it’ll make me feel better.
It’ll mean some body new is readin’ my blog.
Anyway, I hate buyin’ this stuff, this sudafed stuff. I hate buyin’ it for all kinds of reasons:
I have to stand in line in front of the pharmacy counter and listen to folks with real medical problems go back and forth with the pharmacist about their lousy prescription plan.
I have to show the pharmacist my license and sign for my drug allotment.
And, even though I’m old and fat, more often than not, I feel I have no other choice but to say “Thanks” when the pharmacy clerk tells me I bear a strikin’ resemblance to “that guy in ‘Breaking Bad.'”
Then adds, “Ever see that show?”
Now, I haven’t been high for over 37 years and, though I was no stranger to crystal meth back then, the only thing sudafed triggers in my head is a stop hurtin’ response.