God, I hate Home Depot. You are either there because you are getting ready to start a fun project; because you started your fun project and it is derailed and you need to buy another part or different tool and you are wearing your grubby clothing and so sick of being there for the 3rd time that day; or because you just bought a house and are still disillusioned and buying into their “you can do it” slogan. Okay, so maybe it isn’t Home Depot, per se, that I hate, but what it represents.
I got into an argument with my husband Michael this weekend, although now that I’m thinking about it, argument might not be the wrong word. It was more like a meltdown with a witness that ended in a group nap. It was partly my fault for taking dog tranquilizers the night before, which made all my decision making abilities and communication skills come to a grinding halt. But, I also have to blame my doctor for not being more loosey-goosey with the hydrocodone, and also for shaming me about my constant urinary tract and/or yeast infection-scare visits (which always devolve into a gonorrhea/ chlamydia test, and there’s this weird, hazy idea still forming in my head that my insurance company is like my pimp, forcing me to do things I don’t want to do, no matter how many times I tell my doctor that I KNOW that neither my husband or I have been with anyone else since hooking up and goddamnit, for the 5th time this year, I do NOT have chlamydia, and I don’t CARE that the insurance company insists that we do this ‘panel’), which makes me not want to go to the doctor for other issues, such as a neck ache that I’ve had FOR-EV-ER. I don’t even know how long it’s been…. three months? a week? my entire life?
I’ve tried Aleve for my neck ache. A generic migraine formula something or other, probably Michael’s. Sinus meds. Aspirin. Doans, which apparently is like aspirin but has better graphics of pain shooting up the spine/back (and what is the neck if not an extension of the spine? which is what I say to myself in Fred Meyer’s while looking for something new to try). My aspirin-lotion, which was prescribed for the arthritis in my knee (do you think it’s bad to rub aspirin into your neck while also ingesting aspirin?) and of course other topical creams like Icy Hot. NOTHING works. So it’s Friday night, I’m in pain, I want to sleep. I head to the hall closet, a wasteland of half-empty Pepto bottles and unidentifiable pills in bubble-tin foil-wrappers (probably sinus meds), in search of forgotten, half-empty hydrocodone bottles.
Okay, so I find something; it’s “hydroxyzine hcl.” Then I see, shit! it’s for the dog. “Magnum Wolfstone, K9. One half to one pill a day for itchiness.” But, you see, I got it at Safeway because it’s also a human-med, and it’s cheaper through a regular pharmacy than through the vet’s pharmacy, so maybe I can take this. I wonder what else it does, other than stop itchiness:
Hydroxyzine is used to treat itching caused by allergies. It is an antihistamine and works by blocking a certain natural substance (histamine) that your body makes during an allergic reaction. Hydroxyzine may also be used short-term to treat anxiety or to help you feel sleepy/relaxed before and after surgery.
What did people do before Web MD? I know that my dad had a collection of medical school text books. Those are so expensive, though. Thank heavens for technology.
So, yeah… you know what? I DO have allergies, and I am often itchy. Not to mention all this anxiety I was feeling about the possibility of NOT finding drugs in my closet. I needed to come down from that wild ride, for sure.
The dog is like… oh…. 20 pounds, and I’m seven or eight times that easy, so it seemed 100% reasonable that I could take the lowest dosage of a half-pill, then give the other half to the dog (who has been driving me nuts; maybe he’s itchy?). Although, right now, at this moment, I’m remembering when a vet told me to give the dog Benadryl and I was worried because one pill knocks me out, and the vet assured me that dogs process the antihistamine at a different rate than people do, and oddly enough they can handle more of it (although, I do have video of Atticus on a Benedryl, sitting in the kitchen, swaying wildly, high as a kite), and so maybe the same holds true for hydroxyzine? Of course, Web MD does say that 50 to 100 mg is a reasonable dose. For someone going into surgery. But what is life, if not one long, ass-breaking surgical procedure?
So anyway, that’s how I ended up on dog tranquilizers. And my goodness, I certainly felt tranquil Friday night. But then, here comes Saturday, and also the expectation to get out of bed.
Let’s pause here for a minute: I like to plan. Michael, not so much. Well, it’s not that he doesn’t plan, it’s just that he doesn’t need a road map to get through the day, the evening, the weekend. He doesn’t make Christmas plans 3 months in advance (I found this out the hard way last year, and promised I wouldn’t make 2015 Christmas plans without him, then immediately, December 26th, emailed my sisters and was like… “This year was nuts. Next year, we go to mom’s house”). So we got a few things going on: Me, self-roofied and lacking direction. Michael, dodging crazy emails and phone calls from work while he tries to fix a bug in the system, which involves him going to his office, trying something out, coming back, then leaving again to try something else. And each time he returns from his office, the conversation starts OVER. What should we do today? What’s the plan?
I decide that me napping would benefit the whole family, so head to bed for a 10am, 2 hour nap. When I wake up, I feel the shame that all women who have been self-roofied must feel. I take a Silkwood shower and get dressed (dressed beyond my ‘lazy bra’ which is a flimsy training bra type thing that really doesn’t do much at all except keep my breasts from hanging down like bananas) and return to the couch wearing jeans, an honest-to-god bra, and a stain-free shirt. For a two-hour stint of this same cycle…. What should we do? And each time we end it…
“I don’t care. It’s up to you.Whatever you want.”
“But if you need to work, we can stay home.”
“I don’t need to work. I probably should work.”
“So, did you want to work?”
“Well, I never want to work.”
“So… should we go to Home Depot and get paint for the bedroom?”
“Shouldn’t we finish painting the living room first?”
“Yeah, but that will only take an hour, tops.”
“I think you’re underestimating that.”
“No, I’m not. Didn’t you see how much I did last night? I’m fast!”
“Maybe I’m overestimating but you’re underestimating.”
“So we shouldn’t go to Home Depot?”
“I didn’t say that.Whatever you want to do.”
“Umm, Home Depot or stay home.”
“I’m tired of Home Depot.”
“Okay, we go to Lowes. Then we go to Target and get new drapes.”
“I like our drapes. whats wrong with our drapes?”
“Argh! Nothing! I just… it’s just a plan!”
“Wait, I need to go try something.”
“Try-something like… 5 minutes try-something, or like an hour try-something?”
“20 minimum.”
And he returns after 20 minutes. And we start over.
“What are we doing?”
“I thought we were going to get paint. I’ve been looking at paint for the past 20 minutes.”
“I think we should finish the living room first.”
Tears well up in my eyes.
“What?”
“I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“THIS! I’ve been ready for two hours, waiting, and we still don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Well, I didn’t know you were ready or waiting!”
“I’M WEARING PANTS! OF COURSE I’M READY TO GO OUT!”
Because, you see, to me, when you wear pants that have zippers/buttons/pockets/less stains, then you are clearly signalling to the world that you are willing to leave the house. Otherwise you’d be in yoga pants, right? (And isn’t it great that we can now call stretch-pants yoga pants? I love that. It sounds so much more middle class than stretch pants.)
“But you always wear pants!” Except it came out more like, “…pantzzz…[an Oprah-style a-ha moment, mid-word] …ooh. No you don’t.”
I mumble something about “giving up” and I head to the bedroom and collapse, both dogs trailing me onto the bed, where they kind of scratch/dig at my body out of concern ( is she alive? Will we get fed later?). I hear Michael in the living room: “oooh-kay…” Pause. Then he follows me into the bedroom and lays down next to me. I again mumble “tired” and add “dog-tranquilizer.” I don’t fall asleep immediately. I keep opening my eyes and see him looking up to the corner of the room, forehead a tiny bit furrowed, obviously still troubleshooting. But, still he just lays with me, eventually taking off his glasses, getting into his outer-spoon position (which also makes a nice 4-shape with his bent legs so that Magnum can be cuddled; Atticus just wedges his fat little butt next to us, and then Sara Cat comes sassin’ into the room, total coincidence, btw, and not at all a sign of her wanting to be with us, and she jumps up on the bed, climbs over our faces and gets on the window sill), and I curl up inner-spoon-style and we conk out.
When we woke up, we decided to stay in, order a pizza, and finish painting the living room, which, FYI, took us less than one hour (but more than one drink).
Another weekend in paradise.