If we were having coffee, I’d ask you to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn’t collapse while we were talking. I crossed a milestone this week and officially became an old person, because I’m on blood pressure medication now. I developed bursitis in both knees while tiling the bathroom floor, and went into the doctor’s office on Tuesday to get some meds for that, at which point she discovered that my blood pressure was at “holy shit, you’re gonna have a stroke” levels, and then suddenly no one cared about my stupid knees at all any more. A couple of blood tests and some BP meds later, it turns out that it looks like I have a sensitivity to ibuprofen, which I need to either avoid completely or use very sparingly for the rest of forever, because if I take too much of it– as I might, if I can’t put any weight on my knees– it fucks up my blood pressure and my liver enzymes something fierce.
(I’m fine. Follow-up appointment yesterday; BP’s way down, and the liver stuff is expected to return to normal. Other than my knees, I feel completely healthy.)
But, yeah, back to the coffee: I had a cup yesterday morning and it made me fluttery and dizzy, so I’m drinking this one very slowly and keeping an eye on it. I made it 38 years before I ever drank coffee at all, so if I need to hold off on it for a while while I get used to the new medication that’s not exactly gonna be a hardship. But #ifyouwerehavingcoffeeandIwashavinggatoradeandwewerehavingittogether may be a bit too long for a hashtag.
After all that, I might let you talk a little bit before I started griping about school starting, and I’d mention the fact that the doc made the mistake of asking me about job stress yesterday while chatting about my blood pressure, and I said no less than three times during the conversation that I could cut off the rant whenever she got tired of listening to it and she appears to enjoy that sort of thing and so she didn’t.
By then I’d be done with my coffee, and I’d have to go to a library used furniture sale for classroom stuff before a birthday party for a four year old before a shift at my other job before a family thing tomorrow before another day of meetings and working intensively in my classroom before the first four days of school before another Saturday where I have to work at my other job and probably do some grading before that Sunday is my son’s fourth birthday before another week of school before another Saturday work shift and my next day that might be a day off is August goddamn 30th.
And then I’d say “Fuck me dead,” because I seriously hadn’t realized that until telling you about it, and I’d stare glassily off into the middle distance for a while, and at some point I’d go do the next thing I needed to do, possibly paying the bill first.
I hate August.