The Stars and the Cookie Jar

Perhaps you have wondered what it's like to be me.

I know I have.

Here, for your perusal, my life on the days I take Lasix.

7:00 AM: Rise. Shower. Dress. Take Lasix.

7:30 AM: Dammit, Metro station, why no restrooms? Dammit.

8:00 AM: Arrive work. Drop purse. Run to loo.

8:20 AM: Finish loading dishwasher, fixing diligently caffeine-free beverage. Go to the bathroom.

8:45 AM: One more trip to the bathroom before the phones turn on.

9:30 AM: Widdle.

10:18 AM: Whiz.

11:30 AM: Wee.

11:54 AM: Once more into the restroom.

12:10 PM: Snack, with pre-emptive bathroom run.

12:41 PM: Crossing the potty rubicon.

[Snip....]

5:28 PM: More pre-emptive potty time before facing the spectre of transit.

5:35 PM: Wife comes to get me, but there's no facilities in the Jetta.

7:10 PM: Arrive home from dinner. Purchase prescription banana from bodega.

7:14 PM: Resume enervating toll on kidneys that once were youthful and full of life.


You think I'm kidding. I'm not. I'm really, really not. This is unreal.