Remember that little incident from yesterday? Yeah, me, too.
Well, it appears it wasn’t just me not knowing the second lid was in the pot. Nope. I’ve now dropped several things. Thankfully, nothing else has broken. *Thank you, God!* Well, my spirit…my spirit has broken.
This is usually the end result when my back is phasing up into a hella bad cycle. Now, having been off my Cymbalta for two weeks, I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. Because you couple that with no Vicodin and ever dwindling sleep and it’s a wonder worse hasn’t happened.
Do I call the attorney every day? Yes. Twice a day? Sometimes.
I figure if I call and bug them, they’ll call the insurance company and bug the people there. At some point, someone will cave in and stop fucking around with my med approval.
TWO WEEKS. Two weeks of people messing with me just because they can legally do it.
And this, my friends, is why I’ve either been close to tears or in tears for the last 10 days.
P.S. The good news is this: I only broke ONE of the bowls yesterday. Upon looking back on photographic evidence (yeah, I took a couple photos), the carrots simply flew out of their bowl. It was only the flour mixture bowl that shattered like a young man’s ego after getting turned down by the girl everyone said was a sure thing.
P.P.S. Someone wanna send me a reminder at 13:30 to call the attorney back? I’m going to bug the shit out of everyone in that office until I get results.
P.P.P.S. Once I get back on the Cymbalta, who volunteers to hold my hair for me while I vomit? Cuz that’s what’s gonna happen for at least a week.