I'm watching the Patriots' playoff's game out of the corner of my drooping eyes, which is the most enthusiasm I can muster for overpaid men playing a game with a ball. Okay fine, I'll be mildly excited if they make it to the Superbowl. But only mildly.
And... they made it. yay.
Oh yes. And here's the most productive thing I did this week: took my daughter to get a haircut. With someone else doing the work. :) Yep, that's all, folks.
Wrapped in my husband's bathrobe, which is marvelously large, I had stationed myself on the coach with my newly fixed laptop (yayyyyy!!) to put the finishing touches on a nice, humorous Christmas letter on this last official day of the Christmas season (by some accounts at least).
But after an hour of frowning and furious typing, I've ended my fevered search for my Christmas letter... I don't know where it went. I remember writing it, but I can't find it in any email or draft folder or document I own.
I remember writing it!!! Honestly, I do. Vaguely, and not well enough to recreate, but I remember tapping it out with my thumbs on the notepad section of my phone while I waited for this thing to be fixed. And it's disappeared into the ether.
As a consolation prize--while I recreate whatever my original masterpiece might have been--here's some of my drunk writing. You see some people drunk dial or drunk text. I drunk write. Okay, not "drunk" write, just a few morphine-like pills to the wind at the time. Naturally, this piece of literature was saved just fine:
Entitled "Breaking Up With An Old Friend"
(oh help! I have notebooks of stories about inanimate objects from my boring long days of high school. Worst one I can remember was a conversation between ice cubes. Having unpleasant flashbacks... here goes nothing:)
"I'm leaving you. And I miss you already. I miss your reassuring rattle in my purse, and your steady presence on my bed stand, dear Advil.
But it has come to my attention that you've hurt me as much as you've helped me. Therefore, I'm leaving you, and will be shortly be taking up with a bigger, stronger med, who I hope will treat me better than you... while still being helpful.
Thank you for allowing me to dance in college, to wait on tables, clean nursing homes, teach for hours, and pick up several sizable children. I will remember you with a guarded fondness.
Your former devotee."
Sniff... REALLY?? LOL Oh my. Oh I must look through some of these drafts, fantastic stuff... Stupid, but at least I seem to have been attempting humor. And the best news of all: this relationship of about 18 years has been restored! Advil and I are back together. Narcotics and opiates and Celebrex and ashwagandha just isn't the same as plain old ibuprofen.
Speaking of Celebrex, this was rated one of the drug's stupidest commercials ever; someone suggested it should be run during Shark Week. :D Start screaming now...
Though I'm not getting any anti-inflammatory help, I'm getting pretty much everything else ashwagandha offers. Oh it cures problems you didn't know you had folks; it's the all-bird-slaying-rock... With that and a gluten-free diet, immortality is assured!! :P
Signing off before I get sarcastic, or wax poetic on medication again... Oh yes, and if someone got an email with the subject "2013 Xmas Letter" and lots of mentions of "Cecilia," kindly send it back to me... St. Anthony, help me find my mind...