No Mr. Fixit today. . . nor tomorrow, nor the week after that. Still, my life does not feel like my own. I must leave in a few minutes for a doctor's appointment and there is a yard full of scrap wood that I must somehow figure out how to get rid of. Much of it I will have to saw into smaller pieces. Many have vicious nails I will need to hammer down. Then there is the painting of the raw wood on the just repaired stairs that needs to be done. Mr. Fixit complained more each day about how tired he was, how much his body hurt, of all the things he needed and wanted to do for himself. It took an emotional toll on both of us, but I was the one paying for it. I wrote him another check yesterday at day's end. Somehow, for the amount of money I spent, I ended up with more work than I wish to do.
I am woozy this morning having taken an Advil PM lat night before bed. I can't figure that shit out. Sometimes I take it and it has no effect. Sometimes I take it and can't wake up for half a day. I don't think they have the dosages in those little capsules well regulated. Either that or some crazy factory worker likes to dump fentanyl into the vat on occasion.
I got the fentanyl filled capsule last night. My eyes are slow to communicate with my brain, my brain even slower to communicate with my limbs.
Whatever will the doctor make of that?
I know that many of you are snow-covered in frigid temperatures right now. It is cold here, too. But today the sky will be bright and blue, and if I can shake this drug specter, I will do some strolling perhaps. I need to stroll. I need to get back now to my healthier existence.
I guess I'll have a week of holiday season now. I am not certain I want it. I am scared, actually, of what I now actually face. The tenant has left for the holidays and my constant companion, Mr. Fixit, has as well. After two months of constant chaos and turmoil, the house is suddenly silent. My voice will once again be mute. I will turn my attention inward to that sad, dark void that haunts me. Seeing the joyful holiday faces of others may not be quite the bromide I require. Perhaps I will put a wreath on the front door in a token gesture of goodwill. I'm not sure if I am emotionally capable of a holiday special. "Bad Santa" or "A Very Murray Christmas" may be out of the question. No "Love Actually." There will be no one coming home for Christmas this year.
O.K. I'm becoming morbid already. I am still under the influence of the pharmacology industry. I must prepare foe Dr. Strangefinger now. A quick brace of fresh air may set me straight.
Perhaps I'll make a run to the Home Depot today out of instant nostalgia. Ha! Workers of the World Unite!!!!
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