Monday is Botox day.
I wish I could say I'm getting it injected into my forehead to erase all the creases on my forehead from getting ignored by editors. No, it's going into my back. Frankly, I prefer it this way because this injury has gotten way outta hand.
That is why I'm battling a vicious muscle relaxant hangover this morning. Everything is still, well, relaxed.
My doctor changed my prescription because the other muscle relaxant was putting me in a coma (not a bad thing) while not relaxing my muscles (like Ambien without the side effect of unknowingly ordering expensive crap from Amazon). This prescription on the other hand gives me the benefit of the coma AND makes me look like a mime doing an impersonation of someone with no skeleton.
I still stubbornly refused to put down my book last night until I realized I was only reading the first three words of a paragraph before going to the next paragraph. Which became the next page, the next chapter, etc. I wonder how far I'm going to have to go back and try to remember where I really left off. That is, if I remembered to mark my page.