Insufficient Funds

Knowing that the new and upscale mesh playpen wouldn't hold the little daschund, I decided to put the black dog in it, thinking that she would enjoy the extra space and the airiness of it (not to mention hoping that it might distract her from what the day before had been a dime sized hotspot on her side and now was roughly the size of my palm).  Apparently, I don't think quite enough like a dog because she hated it instantly and instead of one dog crying and pawing, I now had two.  In the meantime, though I looked high and low, I couldn't find my office keys and finally fled the house without them to escape the dogs' distress.  I ducked through the pouring rain and got to the office only to discover that neither the doctor nor the nurses were there - a half hour later they still weren't there and the prospect of getting a late start on a Monday morning was unnerving me.  Pawing through my purse for the 3rd time in search of the keys, I was startled to discover my last paycheck, the one I'd have sworn I'd deposited ten days prior - my last nerve unraveled when I thought of the bills I had already mailed, out there in the world and being callously labeled "Insufficient funds" due to my own carelessness.

In the meantime, the nurses finally arrived and we all stumbled into the office only to find that the xray processor - older than dirt and far less reliable even though it had been serviced the Friday before - had developed an appetite for xray film.  The doctor, running late and in one of his bear moods, was decidedly less than thrilled at this unhappy turn of events.   Put all together, as I attempted to explain to him the following morning as he filled syringes and lectured me on neglecting my health, coming down with a head cold hadn't even been on my radar.  Don't care, he muttered and jabbed the first syringe into my hip, You know better. A second jab and a semi gentle cuff to the back of my head.  Go home and get better.

I spent the day on the couch with a box of Puffs, a bag of Hall's, and old black and white John Garfield movies playing, sleeping in between the bouts of coughing, sneezing and sniffling, feeling as my second husband used to say,  like I'd have to get better to die.  Waiting  for the medicines to kick in, I drank enough water to sink a medium sized ship and marinated in resentment over lost time.  John Garfield went from handsome, struggling, young musician to sleazy villain to desperate but ill fated hero - bringing his dark good looks and brooding intensity to each role - so that the day wasn't entirely wasted.  My efforts to sleep were pretty much rendered useless by bouts of coughing and an inability to breathe and I found myself again thinking how ironic it is that all the best medicine and research can't cure a common cold.  We may get to Mars, may perfect cloning, may solve the enigma of creation - and yet we are undone by a simple respiratory infection.

Today it's Lauren Bacall and with a little luck, tomorrow it will be back to the real world.