The Bitch of Life.

This has not been a great year. Back before Christmas a couple family members got diagnosed with something bad. A good friend died in February. Another one in March. One of the family members died in June. The other one is still hanging in there. And I got depression which I didn't know I had until somebody told me I should go see my Doctor. Who fixed me up with a time-release antidepressant, all 37.5 mg worth. Then I had no depression and I was rocking and rolling until I started sleeping the best part of every day. At night. In the mornings. In the afternoons. After supper. So we cut the dose in half and I was sleeping in the mornings, at night, in the afternoons and sometimes after supper. And we cut THAT in half and I was sleeping in the mornings, at night, in the afternoons and rarely after supper.

There must be a song about sleeping that much, and it goes to the tune of The Music Goes Round and Round but I haven't figured out the words yet. So I conferred with my pharmacist, then called the Nice Lady Doctor and she put me on the Classic version of the medication, the non-time-release version. There I was yesterday, two days off the sleepytime goodies and the new stuff hadn't kicked in yet. Every time another driver cut in front of me on the road I wanted to yell "Die, Bitch!" or "Hope you wreck!" They wouldn't have heard me, I had the air conditioner on.

Today it is four in the afternoon, I have just finished my breakfast and I'm starting my day such as is left. And I had to call the dentist a few minutes ago because all the sleeping has given me a cavity which is starting to talk to me loudly. For the last couple years I went to a fellow who had a nice office, video presentations in the waiting room about cosmetic dentistry and bills that I had to dip into my savings - now non existent - to pay. And I had the firmest, shiniest teeth in the county. Before that I hadn't gone to anybody for ten years because I had no problems with my teeth. And back when I was a legitimate working stiff I used to go to an inner city clinic that sat just in front of a public housing project at an intersection where there was a wreck or a robbery now and then to spice things up. And, years ago, my wife and four kids went there too. Nothing fancy, if something hurt you went there and got it fixed with no frills.

I am going back tomorrow to the good old clinic place with the old chairs and no TV in the waiting room and moderate expenses for services rendered. And the dentist who is older than God and still has a steady hand. I will get a filling and no sales pitch about caps or crowns or botox-bo-teeth. Half the clientele in the waiting room will be poor folks or meth addicts with no teeth to speak of. Kind of like having an experienced battle surgeon remove a mole. And it will be tight and right and only I will be responsible for having the shiniest teeth in the county. Unless I ask.

Patience! Patience, Dammit! Ta!