Frowning, lips pursed, George mumbles, “Bitter as
hell.” He’s chewing up his pills instead
of swallowing them. Oh well. At least he got them today.
I’m the pillkeeper.
I’m in charge of getting it right. George takes a boatload of pills. Today my
cell phone alarm rang (yes, you do whatever it takes to remember stuff at my
age) reminding me to give George his 5:00 pills. As I was taking the Sunday
pills out of the little weekly pill box, I noticed that Saturday’s pills were
still in their slot. Egad! I forgot to give George his pills
yesterday! I hope it won’t matter.
Did I give him those pills yesterday? Yes, I distinctly remember it because I
dropped one and had to search all over the place to find it. I put all the wheels in gear in my worn out
brain to figure out if I really took that shot yesterday or could it have been
the day before, which might have seemed
like yesterday? (I think that’s vice
versa.)
I put the pills back in the Sunday slot, took out the
Saturday pills and stared at them. That
did a lot of good. I put them back and
took out the Sunday pills again and stared at them, as if they could tell me
something.
Now before I tell you this, you need to give me a break
because I’m getting a little older these days.----- It's Saturday!
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