Drugs, Hippos and Deep Thoughts

I survived my trip to Scary Hillbilly Town, but just barely. I got one Rx filled and inquired about the rest. I discovered I can save a big chunk of change going the Walgreens route. I got a copy of the generic drug list and brought it in this morning, making copies and distributing it among the other cube dwellers. You'd think our HR manager would have done this, seein' how I told her about it weeks ago, but she told me she'd just wait until I went and get a copy from me.

She drives by Walgreens two or three times a week.

Yeah.. she can get her own copy.

Anywho, I made sure Louise got one. She carries an extra purse just for her drugs. Oh she doesn't take them all, she just likes to carry them around and show them to people. She has medication for rheumatoid arthritis, allergies, fibroid myalgia, migraines, ADD, hypertension, "nerves" and assorted high powered prescription pain medications. We often hear the tell-tale "squeaky squeaky squeaky" sound of her blood pressure cuff as she checks herself several times a day, followed by her announcing to anyone in ear shot whether she's "bounta have a stroke any minute" or "damn near dead." If you ask her if she took her blood pressure medicine, she'll tell you no, she just forgets to take it, but she's quick to show you she's got plenty in her little medicine bag.

Louise is what we here in the mountains like to call "hippoed," meaning nothing is really wrong with her other than a need for attention. It matters not what you say you've got, she's got it too, only worse. She'll even go to the doctor and convince them she needs a prescription.

One day last week, as I whined and moaned with the pain of endometriosis (it only lasts one day, but damn.. what a day,) I wandered into Louise's office and had a seat. We talked, as women do when they're alone and can be frank.

"I swear, I feel like I've got a hot dagger hanging out of my gut. Maybe it'll all just fall out and I won't have to worry about it anymore," I complained.

Louise, rubbing her round belly, "I knooooow, I think I'm swollen. I think I'm a'havin' my peryod time."

"Didn't you have a complete hysterectomy?" I asked.

"Wull yeah, but I still have like.. you know.. that meaness comes over me. And one day last week, I just thought I was gonna cry. I mean it, I could have cried. I could cry right now. But I ain't gonna, I just feel like I could. KnowhatImean?"

"Bless your heart Louise. I don't know how you stand it!" I said with slight sarcasm.

"Wull, it's our cross to bur as womens. We have the sins of Eve to thank for a'layin' this curse upon us for eternity."

I tried to look solemn and nodded my head in mock agreement. I mean, in my head I had this whole theological agrument going on about sins and atonement and how that theory sort of contradicts everything else her church teaches, but I learned a long time ago that there really is no point in saying anything. I just accepted the fact that her ghost uterus was causing her way more pain and discomfort than my actual flesh and blood one and that it was all Eve's fault anyway.

Such is life in the holler.

My fear is that I'll nod in agreement for so long, that eventually the inner dialogue will end and I'll start to actually believe the theories I pretend to accept and slowly assimilate into the hillbilly collective, for no reason other than it's simply easier to mentally roll over and die than to try to have an opinion, belief or theory of my own.

I don't care who ya' are, that's some deep shit right there.

Ya'll enjoy your Humpday. Hump it like nobody's business.

Later Taters!