If I Could Put Time In A Bottle

I finally understand the drippy and sentimental lyrics of Jim Croce's sappy little ballad; it's just that they have a different meaning for me now. If I could put time in a bottle, the first thing I would want to do is streamline it into one pill, as opposed to the numerous bottles above.

I took my kinder half to the doctor today; it was the first of many appointments he will have while he is at home for the next two weeks. Our doctor sees us together because if I'm not in the room she can't get him to communicate his health concerns to her and will just have to come out to the waiting room to get me for interpretation. It saves all of us time just to have me in the room to explain and clarify things. Then we headed over to gastroenterologist's office to schedule an endoscopy for Thursday morning, plus later that same afternoon he sees the urologist. I did have to cancel his dental appointment for tomorrow morning as we will be at our accountant's office, and will probably be getting well screwed by the government. Never let it be said that I don't know how to keep a man entertained on his vacation. Some of his co-workers went to Thailand for a few relaxing weeks; like they might possibly have more fun there than here in Valdosta. I only regret that I cannot take him to our afternoon spin classes, as our gym is closed now because of the massive flooding that has occurred here since last week.

Of course after the doctor came the obligatory run to the pharmacy so that we could fill all the various prescriptions that have snuck up on both of us. After I unpacked the grocery bag sized package and lined up all the bottles on top of the microwave, I had to step back in awe of the amount of chemicals we put in our bodies on a daily basis. My spouse came in for a glass of water and stared at the bounty with me.

This sucks. Out of all the drugs on top of the microwave, not a one of them is for recreational use. You know you're old when you only have prescription drugs. The only thing we have that could be considered remotely recreational is Viagra, which my husband has been stockpiling since 2005. Back in his active duty days, you could get six 100 mg. pills a month for free. He refilled that prescription religiously, even if I had to remind him about refilling necessary medication. They're not for now, but for later. He now has a large bottle to tide him over in case there is some sort of pandemic of impotence; which I suppose is a possibility considering the amount of "boomers" there are clogging up the pharmacy line every time I have to get something filled.

I'd say we are now officially old. Time is bottled for us in those various bottles of vitamins, antacids, migraine and sinus medicines, various anti-inflammatory agents, fiber powders, fish oil capsules, herbal menopause pills, and extra-strength Maalox bottles. Now in all fairness, the Gummi-Bear vitamins are mine, as I get nauseated when I take any other sort of multivitamin. Actually, the Teenager and I share them, hence I purchase the largest bottle Target has.

I also have found out since he's been home that we have to share reading glasses. Neither of us is quite bad enough for bifocals yet, so popping a pair of reading glasses over our contacts allows us to read important documents, such as menus in dimly lit restaurants. I finally started carrying one of my twenty pairs of reading glasses that I have around the house with me, so that I won't have to pretend to read things anymore. We stopped by the Smoking Pig (Valdosta's most awesome bar-be-que restaurant) and I noticed him squinting at the menu. I reached in my purse and handed him the glasses so that he could order. He has been frantic to eat there since getting home, but huge crowds on Friday night and floods on Sunday had frustrated our efforts. We ended up ordering the exact same thing, a pulled pork sandwich. Another sign of getting old, we are growing more alike in our eating habits and you know what that means.

We are now officially almost ready for 5 pm. dinner and sharing an entree since the portions are so big. I already carry his variety of stomach medications in my purse in case he should need something. Yesterday we had to stop for Tums as I forgot to include the antacid with all the other meds I carry, plus the large bottle of water I always have to wash things down. I would hate to die by choking on a Welbutrin as I try to dry swallow it on the way to the manicurist. Though it probably would be a fitting end to me. "Died in the line of beauty" my obituary would say. I wonder if the Catholics have a saint for beauty? I'll have to call my Catholic friend to see if she knows, and if they don't I would like to be considered for the post.

Our orders arrived, and I found I had already lined all the condiments up in front of his plate. My spouse is unable to eat without decorating his food with a profusion of sauces and spices. It used to annoy the shit out of me as I fancy myself a serious chef. Nothing like spending hours preparing Emincé de Volaille sauce Roquefort and watching him pour ketchup or Worcestershire sauce all over it. I had pretty much broken him of his excessive condiment usage, but working overseas and eating in military chow halls has corrupted his palate again. Today I witnessed him pour all six different bar-be-que sauces over his sandwich, then add ketchup, salt and pepper, and attempt to sprinkle hot sauce on the whole sloppy mess. As he can barely keep food down now I had to smack him away from the Tabasco sauce. He also ordered baked beans. Ewww. We, meaning me, were planning to go to a 6:30 yoga class, and I didn't want to have the flatulent partner. There is a lady in my class that brings her husband and he always farts during downward dog. No one wants the gassy husband; it takes away from their hotness factor. Seriously guys, how would you feel if you were showing us off and we farted? As if. Obviously only newbies put their mat next to him, the rest of us stay up wind of his smelly ass. I always feel sorry for her, I know she must give him hell all the way home. I had already decided that I was going to put my husband by farty boy so that no one would be able to tell which of them was doing it, but with my luck they would start having a contest. You know how competitive men can be; plus my husband thinks fart sounds are hilarious. Most of the time.

Anyway, I just shoved him into the bedroom to lay down. He has a headache and was determined to remove the engine from one of his non-working vehicles. Between him and the Teenager, who is home for spring break; I'm having trouble getting anything done. Imagine that! I am considering giving the Teen gas money as I find it makes him go away for several hours. I suggested job hunting, but he did remind me that the unemployment rate is almost 8%. Smart ass. Plus he has an after school job already running his own Planned Parenthood business out of the car. Obviously it's not doing as well in a recession either.

I probably need to go as I'm sure it's time for a medication of some sort. I find I count my pills to see how many are left and that does help me remember if I might have already taken it that day or not. I won't give in to time and get a day of the week pill holder yet, as I think denial is the better part of valor. Or something like that, I can't quite remember.

Love and Kisses,

Cult Diva