So 42 is here and I am none the wiser. I would even venture to say I am even less the wiser. Which isn't all that surprising. Damn you Douglas Adams, you lied. I slouch here in bed, 42, and still no clue about life, the universe and everything. Admittedly, I should have known. 42 was also Mulder's apartment number and while he was convinced that The Truth is Out There, he really never found a satisfactory answer. And if Mulder can go through 9 seasons and a couple of movies with Scully, and still be in the dark, what hope does a middle-aged woman with purple hair and coffee-stained pjs (it's been one of those mornings) have? And while we're at it, and I was procrastinating before writing by looking up pictures of Mulder, I came across this picture and realised that Tony Abbott has ruined the red speedo forever. I couldn't even look without a little bit of sick rising up to the back of my throat. Worst birthday moment EVER. And now you can't unsee that either. You're welcome.
Answers to questions I didn't even know I was asking that became clear today:
- Nasonex squirted under your armpits rather than in your nostril does little for your allergies. Although I'm pretty sure my armpits will be able to tackle rogue dust mites in a single bound while my nostrils continue to weep and offer up their lunch money.
- A casually hung hand towel is not a substitute for a sturdily attached handrail when you are flailing about as you head downward. Terry toweling works well to cover your face and dab the drool from your lax mouth. Pro tip: check for errant hairs (yours, your husband's, or the dog's) and the location of that one miscellaneous slightly damp spot, before use.
- When you are walking to the bathroom with an empty glass in one hand and your Florinef in the other don't put the pills in your mouth and stand baffled as they stick to your tongue rather than going down. Don't then try to drink from the empty glass, or fill and rinse the glass while you are gagging on the pills, still surprised that they are not going down and you still have an empty glass.
- When apologising for slurred speech whilst on the phone to a local medical centre, the slurring does not suddenly evaporate. It is all just a continuation of slurring. Slurring overly articulated words, is still slurring. Though I have a feeling a frustrated half-whispered F bomb may be the only word that becomes crystal clear. Even should the phone be held away from the mouth.
I'm pretty sure that those are the bargain bin versions of answers to life, the universe, and everything. You'd find them tucked down at the bottom of the bin next to a Kenny G cassette, a battered Troll Doll and a dog-eared copy of The Secret. But hey, that's the kind birthday it is. I still feel like crap but still not sure that I feel 42.
So while I lay here and contemplate my navel and my past 42 years I'll repeat my birthday wishes from my Almost 42 post.
I have two birthday wishes.
1) If you know someone living with chronic illness give them a hug and let them know you care. Because this shit is hard.
2) If you are living with chronic illness, know you are a superhero. Because this shit is hard.
Bring on the birthday cake.
A funky birthday tune.