Safety....in 75 mg doses

I don’t quite understand this, so perhaps, you can possibly enlighten me. If I’m taking a particular medication, the smallest dose of this med, should you be interested to note, and I find that on a several overnight outting I’ve forgotten to bring it along, one might suggest I call the pharmacy, and request just enough to say, get me through til I get home to the complete prescription I have awaiting me there, tucked snugly up in the cabinet containing all my coffee, tea, and mugs. I think the honey lives there as well. And the seasonal tea pots - including the snowman one with the broken carrot nose…but I digress.

So, I happily call said pharmacy, and request said meds, only to find out that she is uncomfortable prescribing only a four day dose of 75 milligram meds; instead, she’d rather fill the entire thing - which would be fine, should I have a whopping $140 to my name for the damn meds.

Now. This is the point I don’t get:

If you’re concerned that I’m not taking it as prescribed, why, on God’s Great Green Earth would you insist I take the whole script, instead of realizing that it could simply be a waste of valuable meds that some other stressed-out-home-selling-schmuck might desperately need while navigating the inroads to placing a house on the market, panicking, looking at other homes, and thier staggering home prices, while silmutaneously looking for a job…..oh wait. That stressed out moron is me. And this is the funny part - if you’re into really dark humor, that borders on human testing of stress loading: the meds? the anti-ANXIETY meds I’m on? The 75 miligram baby dose meds? They’re the kind that you cannot really overdose on. I mean, FOUR DAYS is not going to kill anything, except maybe a squirrel, and only because it won’t freak out when that circling hawk lands upon it, scooping it up in it’s talons, and feasting upon it. That poor, blissed out, furry little guy will skip the heart-attack fast track to being dinner, and simply stare into the maws of it’s maker…or, rather, diner, but whatever. You get the point.

Sadly, I am not the size (or weight, but, as I’m currently not taking the meds, we’ll skip the actual numbers here) of a squirrel, nor, now that I’ve waxed, am I that furry, so FOUR PILLS is really going to do anything except perhaps peel me off the ceiling, and allow me to breathe.

In.

And.

Out.

Without needing a paper bag.

So I stood there, with two children in a oversize tub, sending water hither and yon, while dousing the family dog, and examining their penises, (which, they are proud to report, are bigger than anything they’ve seen at swim lessons) on the phone with the Pharmicist From Hell. She lectured me on dose-loading, and skipping meds, and not following instructions. She then launched full scale into my carelessness for leaving it behind, and, why couldn’t I drive the hour each way to retrieve it? I think I nearly hyperventilated, but as I’ve been doing that for days now, it’s becoming quite a great way to catch a buzz.

I’ll tell you why.

My realtor just called. She’d like to show the house again. This weekend. While H is supposed to be home. Can we be gone most of the day both Saturday and Sunday? Have I gotten around to cleaning out the garage, and the office? Mulching the back two trees, and baby bushes that line the deck? The floors? Anything else that was on her list? Honestly. How did I expect my home to sell if I’m not willing to put in a little elbow grease?

Which means, I’m picking the safer route: I think other people’s lives on the road are worth MORE that the $140 it would take to keep me OFF the roads.

Ok. So not everyone’s life. I mean. Should my ex-husband be in a crosswalk today, and I had the right of way (spare me how jaywalkers have the right of way) on green (or, maybe red….hmmm), I’d totally take him out.

But that’s a tale for another day.

Like one, maybe, when I’m fully medicated.