It’s ok Officer, I’m just…uhhh…

February 15, 2005 at 5:25 pm (Daily Dookie, Rant Goodness)

Last night wins hands-down for the shittiest Valentine's Day ever.

I spent most of the afternoon packing up the laboratory–I mean, the kitchen. It's where all my soaping supplies are, with the exceptions of the ones that won't fit anywhere in the kitchen. The exception-supplies are scattered throughout the house, raining hell on anyone not wary enough to notice where the hell they're walking.

Of course, with the frenetic packing I have to do and the clothes-washing and all the other details involved in getting out of this house, my back is giving me more shit than usual. When I can't stand the incessant, whining pain, I sit down at my computer for a rest. Usually this is a good thing. Last night, I was reaching for a piece of paper to load into the printer, twisting, and…WHAM! The entire left side of my back curls up tightly in protest, sending shooting pains down my right arm, right leg and over the entire left side of my back.

Two hours later, I'm still in the bedroom, whimpering every time I reach for a smoke, drink or other silly bodily need. Honey gives up trying to watch 24 and grabs his car keys for a trip to the Emergency Room. Shit. I really don't have a choice but to go, since I was trying like hell to watch 24 also and missed most of it.

ER went the way I thought it would…they're hoping I didn't blow a disk and meanwhile rest and medications are the treatment. Dilaudid, to be precise…a synthetic derivative of heroin. It works great, but the couple times I've had it given to me it's made me ill. VERY ill–as in worshipping at the Altar of the Great Porcelain God, Ralph, and starting at some point along the highway on the way home from the hospital. Last night was no different–we'd only gone about 5 miles from the hospital when I clapped a hand over my mouth and told Honey to pull Baby over.

The last time I had to bring the Impala ride to a halt was just as we were turning off the highway onto our road here 5 miles outside of town. As he was slowing to turn I was ripping off my (mandatory) seat belt and trying to make myself understood once again thru my hand over my mouth. Honey's an engineer–he designs cars for a living, so he can translate "Mmmf…orrffff…..mowww…" as "Pull this bitch over before I barf on the butter-soft leather seats".

I had a feeling this was going to happen tonight, starting the first time in the middle of the town next to the one the hospital's in. I could almost picture a city cop nodding as I 'splained, looking less convinced than Hilary did when Bill told her, "I did not have sex with that woman". He'd sit there, nod, then yank my 6'3'' Honey out of the car, search for open booze, ends of marijuana cigarettes, $100 bills that test positive for methamphetamine. When he didn't find them, there'd be an ugly but thorough search while I struggled not to blow chow on his pretty navy uniform.

Yep, I'm just trying to catch my breath at the back bumper of Baby as the approaching car brakes hard, then turns on a dime and moves behind. Just as it stops, the blue-and-red flash begins, making me feel like I'm on a cheap and broken carnival ride. Yay. The local constabulary has arrived where they're not needed once again.

We begin the dance–I 'splain, then tell him our address.

"Oh, I remember you folks–I helped you change a flat tire down at the restaurant a couple years ago…cold cold night, that one."

Huh? He's being nice?

"Head home and get some rest, Ma'am. Hope your back gets better."

I nod, smile and head for the passenger seat, then buckle in as Honey restarts the car.

Sometimes it's nice to be in a small town.


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