There’s some joke, although I can’t remember it, about a guy who is painting the cornices of his porch moulding while the house is burning down – I suppose another variant is our old saw about “rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic”. Anyway, that’s the way I’m feeling right now about solving any of the myriad problems and excavating the mounds of expectations awaiting me: my sinuses are so infected that my doctor finally pulled out what he called The Howitzer. STEROIDS AND CIPRO!
Steroids apparently shrink the whole mess up long enough for the antibiotics to work, and if Cipro doesn’t do it, I think the next step is actual bleach. It’s also comforting to know I’ll be protected from any random anthrax attacks, because really, you just never know.
Here’s the other HIGH-LARIOUS thing: when you take Cipro and Augmentin (the other antibiotic) together, you run the risk of your joints popping out of their sockets. Apparently I’m not even suppose to walk fast for the next week, or else my fucking legs will fall off. Curious and curiouser, said Alice! I shall open out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye feet!
But the whole contretemps does offer some pretty intense focus; I can’t bemoan the effluvium and errata that usually gunks up my works. My job for the next week or so is to take giant horse pills and get better. No mental hopscotch about my precious psychology. Nothing sharpens the mind like singular purpose.