The past several weeks I’ve had more than my share of flip outs. ‘More than my share’ is based on a scientific study I made up concluding that flip outs should be limited to one per day. I also decided that any unused flip outs could be saved and combined into one weekly major meltdown. It may be odd, but this structure has served me well for years. Somehow, screaming a slew of profanities while throwing everything out of my closet because I can’t find a particular belt that is usually still in my jeans gets me through the week. But recently, my finely tuned mania machine has been thrown off its axle.
This may be to blame.
Not the medication. The lid. It’s an antagonistic bastard. Every morning I have to get this thing off of the bottle. I’ve tried being nice but this lid is an asshole. So within an hour of waking up, I’ve used up my daily allotment of flip out and I don’t have a single one banked for a much needed weekly meltdown. It’s a problem, people.
I’m convinced that this particular lid is the spawn of Satan. I have injured myself daily attempting to remove it. I threw it across the room and it magically landed on a pillow. I searched frantically for the jigsaw. It was nowhere to be found. Coincidence? I think not, well, actually, I think my husband may have hid the jigsaw from me but still – creepy. Speaking of my husband, he just casually took the bottle, in the midst of my tantrum, and easily removed the lid. He’s mocking me (the lid, not my husband – well, maybe both).
Volker: You have to push down and twist.
Me: I know how to open a prescription bottle, Volker. Jeez, I have like fifteen other ones that don’t hate me.
Volker: Bottles can’t hate you. They have no feelings.
Me: I don’t think that the bottle hates me. Are you even listening!? The LID hates me! Clearly, this bottle is being held hostage by this vindictive, demonistic lid. I think it broke me wrist.
Volker: Before or after you turned into a pirate? Me wrist is broken, argh.
Me: Oh, you’re hilarious. I can’t believe you’re laughing at my pain. It’s for rheumatoid arthritis. This is some kind of sick joke, right?
Volker: Why don’t you ask the pharmacy for a different type of lid? They make ones for the elderly.
Me: What!? I’m calling them right now. Don’t think you’re getting a pass on that elderly comment. I’m just too excited to be mad at you.
The pharmacy should probably mention the non-demon-possessed lids to all patients picking up medication for rheumatoid arthritis. Later, I will post pictures of my various attempts to destroy the devil lid. Please leave suggestions.
American German – language lesson #23
Gegangen Dämon warden! (gee-gan-gen day-mon vair-den) – Be gone demon! It’s hard to believe that a demon would take up residence in my prescription lid, but here we are. See what happens when there’s no Pope.