I admit it. I want to commit murder. Right now. I don’t just want namby-pamby pain killers. I want pain torturers. Pain assassins. Pain annihilators. If Ahnold hadn’t been such a total fucktard idiot, I’d want the Terminator to destroy pain’s ass. But as it is, I will have to settle for Aleve ®.
Why am I in so much turmoil, you ask? Well. Here’s what. For about ten hours today, I worked like an immigrant out in the 1000-degree shed where we store all the shit that won’t fit into the apartment. I repacked, retaped, and rearranged alllll the quintillion boxes of miscellaneous crap so that I now know exactly where everything is, and all the stuff that I want to go away is in the front, annnnndd, I am utterly certain that there are no motherfucking cock roaches in any of my triple-sealed packages. I was attacked by a swarm of flying beetles before I could close up for the night. One of them flew straight down my shirt betwixt the twins, nearly causing me in my apoplexy to drop my mother’s antique mixer with the glass bowl. That would have been très tragic for the beetle population. I did trap a few dozen of those sons of bitches in the oven-y garage on my way out. I hope they pop like corn kernels. At least I know they won’t be nestling.
Anyway. When I began this morning, clouds masked the sun and the thermometer said 83, so I thought I’d better get at it before the upcoming heat wave next week. Unfortunately, what I consider morning is way close to afternoon, so just after I dug in, the damned sun burned its way through the thunderheads and had the audacity to shine and glare and radiate the rest of the day. Bastard.
Even though I chugged Coke Zero ® and ice water, I just sweated all the liquid out as soon as it went in. I had no idea that my shorts could adhere so permanently to my ass. Fortunately, I found a paint scraper while I was repacking. And I completely get the phrase “bone tired” now. My back muscles mutinied several hours in, but I kept myself going with the promise of a long, cool, relaxing bath. By the time I was finished, I was looking so forward to total immersion, I thought I was a Mormon. But then I had sweet tea with my painkillers. So that didn’t last long.
Here’s what torches my meringue, though. Why would pain medication manufacturers allow their products to be sealed in bottles that require a degree in rocket science to open? Old people generally have gnarly arthritis and bad eyesight, yet we are supposed to line up those tiny assed little arrows and then use our thumbs’ super-strength to pop off the lid? Who designed that shit? Hitler? It’s just like Midol ® containers. Do the fine folks at Bayer ® not realize that a woman in need of menstrual relief caplets is the last person who should have to use a fucking chainsaw to open the bottle?
If I were in charge, I’d sell pain medication in brightly colored bags at the check-out like M & M’s ®. Hell. I’d even cover them in chocolate because everyone knows the health benefits of chocolate, what with all its anti-oxidants and endorphin-production-stimulators. But, as usual, I’m not in charge. Still don’t know why.
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