POSSIBLY THE KEY TO LONGEVITY

This evening I felt fine disembarking from the bus back to the city, despite a full day of work AND needing a painkiller by ten o'clock in the morning. It's probably a question of timing. Specifically, eating lunch before two thirty, then washing down the four o'clock amlodipine besylate tab with three cups of tea. It has got to be the timing. Food out of the way well before the amlodipine besylate come into play.

Oh, and probably the fact that the city was colder than it has been at that time on previous days. I figure the timing of everything combined with cooler temperatures and enough caffeine was the secret to not stumbling home in pain.

But setting up this morning was literally a pain in the you-know-where. The blockage is probably where the right femoral heads into terra incognita at the pelvis.

Literally, a pain in the you-know-where.


A photo of the affected area will NOT be provided. Nor a realistic illustration.
There is no need to gross out my more sensitive readers.
I'm saving the monster autopsy for that.
Perhaps in full technicolor.
Techni-ichor.

Now, in other news, I've concluded that the best combo (well, it's probably pretty darn good) for my imaginary eventual possible next girldfriend is a Peterson System Standard shape 305 with a tin of aged Virginia for enjoying while happily reading biochemistry textbooks. Either for a college course, or writing a murder mystery involving creatively offing the person whose unpleasant character early on in the novel tells the reader that they're going to snuff it. "Colonel Foxworthy disdainfully threw a chicken bone at the peasant woman dressed in rags at the backdoor. He hit her squarely between the eyes. She snarled "you bastard" in angry defiance. He laughed." See, that tells you he's a bad one. And you already knew that he had a decanter of port in the study. Which could be advantageously 'doctored'. Now, what is he deathly allergic too?


It's that rusticated brown finish that they don't do anymore. Vaguely sandblasty. Very tactile. Until she materializes I'll probably have to smoke it. Rattray's Old Gowrie or Brown Clunee.


Yes of course my imaginary eventual possible next girlfriend is a thoughtful sort with a taste for good tobacco. Did you honestly think I'd fall for some brassy vulgarian? A superficialist?



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