Little bits in passing

[aadler]

Following my diagnosis with a cardiac event at the end of November, I was prescribed five new medications, four of them to be taken on a regular basis and the last to be kept handy if I need it. Of the five, one of them has to be split in half, because the assigned dose is a half-tablet. So why, on that one-out-of-five basis, is the smallest one (seriously, it’s a four-millimeter cross-section) the one that’s supposed to be halved? I practically have to use a magnifying glass to see where to make the split. I doubt anybody went to that much effort just to create extra inconvenience for me … but if they had, they couldn’t have done a better job than how it turned out naturally.

Spinning off that, the as-needed medication is nitroglycerine. I couldn’t even guess how many years I spent seeing those little pill caddies that could be clipped to a key-ring, so someone could be sure to have nitro handy if they needed it; now, I’m one of those people. My life just keeps bringing in more surprises.

And — last of the my-new-condition notes for this post — I’m supposed to have orientation for cardiac rehab in three days. Because of my odd work schedule, I’ll have to go to two different cities (one Monday, one Thursday) to get in what I need, but I really am trying to take this seriously.

My current job just made a new offer: a four-days-on-three-days-off overnight shift. I actually thought about it, but it’s been a long time since I tried to work nights, and I’d just rather not at this point in my life.

The newest version in the automatic updates for my Microsoft Word program has what they call “text predictions”: you type a few letters, it’ll project what you may mean to enter next. Sounds familiar, right? we see that in phones and Google searches all the time. Only, this one doesn’t have any way for you to go, Yes, that’s what I want, go ahead and put that in. It just sits there, and you have to go on and type it out anyway. What’s the point?

Today, it got up to 55°F. So, naturally, the weather report predicts snow for tomorrow.

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a sitcom. The weird kind, like writers used to turn out in the Seventies after dropping a few tabs of acid.