I won't give you all the details about the pinched nerve in my lower back, I'll just mention that it's there and hurts like a sonofabitch. Pain unfortunately leads to irritability--as Janie puts it, I'm Mr. Grumpypants--and also, somewhat more fortunately, to medication.
Oh, sweet narcotic relief!
When the label clearly specifies that meds are to be taken only at bedtime, well kids, it can only mean one thing: Seriously weird-ass dreams will follow. And sure enough, on this occasion my slumbering form found itself sitting through an entire endless Saturday Night Live episode hosted by Christina Aguilara, who occasionally morphed into Cyndi Lauper because fine, whatever, but more to the point, she was the center of the whole episode. There were literally no other cast members, just Christina (or sometimes Cyndi) mugging her way through endless solo sketches that inevitably led to singing. And it just kept going on and on and on until...
...Until I woke up and stumbled out of bed. At first it felt like my pain was gone, but all at once it returned, shooting down my leg, making my foot tingle. Hard at this point to say which hurts more, reality or my dream state, but at least in the real world I won't have to suffer through any more punishingly unfunny attempts at comedy.
At least, I hope not.
