OCTOBER 10

I'm standing (figuratively) at the crossroads of Painpill Types one and two. At my descretion, PP1 is an hour and a half late.

I thought I'd not take pain meds to see if I really needed them, despite a brand spanking new bottle of 120 Hydrocodone 7.5s trying to lure me into its numb embrace. I am no pill junkie.

After a few stabbing reminders of why I have a large quantity of tightly-controlled narcotic, however, I eased my toe (again, figuratively, plus gratefully) into the Hydrocodone pool: I took half of one, expecting a bonanza of debilitating side effect which would make me forget why I took the pill in the first place, if my memory itself doesn't hop aboard the express out of town.

Now let's see if I can make it to the porta-potty without falling.

45 minutes later I pecked up that other half pill like a barnyard chicken, allbeit one with its claw bandaged and held up in the air.

Serendipity had me tune A Prairie Home Companion just as the show began. This is so darn good. Too bad radio only can reach this pinnacle once a week. In fact, calling it radio pulls it down or pulls radio up.
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