A tough pill to swallow

I’m feeling much better. Thank you for asking me telepathically. I know you were all worried sick about me and my poor little neck. After a couple visits to the chiropractor (where they did strange things to me, not unlike what I assume an alien abduction must be like), and some pain meds, I was able to have a semi-enjoyable weekend without too much complaining on my part.

As a general rule I hate to take medicine mainly because, once upon a time, for me swallowing a pill became more of an unintended comedic act. A mixture of a high gag reflex and an unaccommodating esophagus . . . you get the picture. But nowadays I stay away from the medicinal relief because I’ve either been pregnant or lactating or on some natural kick. So unselfish of me I know. I mention this only to illustrate how heinous I must have been feeling if I was driven to drugs.

I have a newfound empathy for people who endure chronic pain of any kind. If I could, I would fly to Paris and bring you fresh baguettes and brie, and then I would sit by your side and fan you while you ate. Then I would hire a personal assistant for you because I would have to go do my own things. And that personal assistant would give you deep tissue massages every three hours, along with around-the-clock beck and call service. He or she would also size you for the perfect pair of custom jeans (or khakis, whatever floats your boat) that fit you like a dream. And you would be so happy that you would forget about the pain, and instead, every time you put on those jeans you’d see fireworks because your new pair pants are just that awesome.

And I would do all of this for you because that is what I would want someone to do for me. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask really.

So while I catch up on things around the house that have gone neglected, mostly my leg and armpit hair, I also plan on concocting new posts in this crazy little brain of mine. Stay tuned. Thanks for reading my rambles.