The Liquor Talking

At least I got my flu shot, so I don’t have to worry about getting the flu. I guess the plus side of having a cold while on the road is that I don’t have to put up with a bunch of being nursed.

When I’m not feeling well, I want one thing and one thing only and that is to be left alone. My wife however has been a nurse for more than 30 years. It’s not anywhere in her nature to not nurture when I or one of the kids is ill. She’s also a labor & delivery nurse, so she’s pretty darned skilled in dealing with difficult patients.

The grumping, grousing, growling and yelling that under any other circumstances, would have me sleeping in the garage, passes without note.

Now, if I could get doted on like that when I’m not feeling well…

I think I’d make a lousy junky. I know I’d be a lousy drunk. I can’t deal with hangovers anymore. While the result of a fairly epic drunk, the last one left me feeling like I’d have to rally to die. I guess it’s been nigh on 8 years since I’ve tied one off.

I don’t react well to pain meds. When I had my nose operated on (something was crooked) the doctor prescribed something, I don’t recall the name, that was as effective on my agony as skittles. After a couple of hours, I got had the wife call the doctor and he changed the prescription to something called “Percocet.”

I never understood why, but somehow, my wife thought that obtaining this new drug involved her having to go to Perkins to obtain muffins. Then and only then, could she go to the pharmacy to get the necessary pills. After a somewhat spirited, albeit it completely insane argument, I got her to promise that she would go to the pharmacy, obtain the pills and return home by the most expeditious route possible. Only when I had the Percocet in hand would she go to Perkins to get her muffins.

While the initial drugs were having no effect on my pain, they may have been interfering with my thought process, so I may not have it exactly right. I do however recall that muffins from Perkins were somehow involved.

Percocet whoever is awesome!

Within just couple minutes, my nose stopped throbbing. The whole universe became all soft and cuddly. Gravity seemed to have less pull on everything. As much as I was digging the feeling, I could feel an overwhelming fatigue coming on. I bid everyone a fond good afternoon and floated away to my bed.

I put on the TV and laid down. I think the show “Dirty Jobs” was on, but I could not for the life of me figure out what Mike Rowe was talking about. Eskimos were doing something, and Mike was turning into a shovel. The whole thing struck me as silly and I switch it off.

Just as I rolled over, I spotted out of the corner of my eye, the top of a pointed hat going around the end of the bed. As much as I thought it would be good idea to investigate, something about the Percocet made me not at all concerned. I started to roll over when an elf jumped up on the bed. He wasn’t like those Lord of The Rings elves. This one was short, just a couple of feet tall, with a green, pointy hat and wearing a plaid, three-piece suit.

ELF: Hello, are you fixing to sleep?
ME: Yes I am.
ELF: Do you mind if we sing for a while?
ME: I’d rather you didn’t.
ELF: It’ll just be for a little while.
ME: No, please go away.
ELF: I think you’ll like it.
ME: Please go away and leave me alone.
ELF: No.

With that, the elf was joined by a half dozen fellow elves who climbed up on my dresser and made themselves comfortable. The head elf produced a pitch pipe and blew a d. The elves then launched into a rousing rendition of The Lumberjack Song from Monty Python.

Entertaining as this was, I really wanted to sleep. Despite the elf’s promise of brevity, it was soon apparent that their definition of “a little while” was vastly different than mine. After their fourth time through the song, I started yelling. This naturally brought the wife on the run. The elves heard her coming, jumped off the dresser and disappeared. I tried to tell her about the elves, but the sudden quiet allowed slumber to find me.

About 6 hours later, I woke up feeling like Mike Tyson was using my face as a speed bag. I got up, staggered to the kitchen and demanded more Percocet. The wife obliged, but only after I’d drank two full glasses of water and a glass of milk. Again, within just a couple of minutes, my nose was not only fine, but was far and away the best feeling region of my whole body. The universe again returned to being pretty darned excellent and I could again feel gravity taking a break.

Back to bed.

There was now some documentary about sharks on the TV, but I couldn’t figure out how they figured into the making of tennis balls. No matter, sleep was coming upon me.

Around the end of the bed came another pointy hat. Knowing the outcome, I immediately started yelling. The wife again showed up and the elves scattered. This continued for the next three or four days, until my nose finally stopped feeling like a nine pound bag of ouch. The timing of this was perfect because I’d run out of the Percocet and with it, my elf problem.

So, as much as I dig the way Percocet makes the world a pretty awesome place, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t deal with the elves and the way they make my wife think I’m nuts.

Not that she doesn’t already have suspicions enough already.