I’m starting to like this percocet stuff.
Yesterday I left work early and did some home office work for the new job while drinking a beer and holding my left hand above my heart… and then a little later I took a percocet and babbled on the phone, only somewhat coherent, to a very patient friend. When we said goodbye, I hung up and realized I was in a bit of a jam. I was much too woozy to drive. And I only had the full capabilities of 7 fingers, add in the wooziness factor, and I figured it best not to try to chop anything for cooking. The only delivery restaurants I know of here are pizza, and I’m lactarded. And I was famished. Taylor is gone again, on his way to Mexico this time, so I couldn’t count on him, and I still don’t know anyone in this town…
I decided I deserved a treat. I walked down to Artisan, one of my favorite central coast restaurants, stowing a book in my purse which I never ended up reading, bellied up to the bar, and bought myself a three course meal.
I miss yoga.