Drugs

I want to tell you how bad I am at this. I was at the eye specialist the other day for the first time and was asked if I did street drugs. I laughed and said I’m nearly 60 years old.

In my mind if I’d started on street drugs at age 17 I would no longer be alive. Not only have I never wanted them, if I did I’d never know where to go to get them. She said the insurance company wanted to know, even though they asked me when we enrolled in coverage.

My college “pack” used to leave the party room for me to watch TV or listen to ELO. They disappeared to another room to smoke pot. They never told me, invited me or did it in front of me. After decades I’ve kept in touch with three friends from college, two are dead, one a fellow student and another a prof. The other found me and we’ve been in touch. He’s met my husband for lunch. More important, he had me drive him sophomore year home to meet the girl he was seeing while she was a high school student, presumably for my OK. Yes, she was more than ok and they now have kids in college and grad school. I was the sister to a brotherhood. They protected me. I softened their rough edges so they could get girls.

So we started with my history with drugs. I got a biopsy done yesterday of my eyelid. They excised it, sent it to the lab to see if I have cancer. We’ll find out in a couple of weeks before my check-up.

I couldn’t see that well this morning so had a taxi take me to the drugstore and grocery. I’ve now this viscous petroleum-based antibiotic to be used on the eye and lid. I squeezed until I got a whole bunch in there. Whoops! Yes, I should have tried the viscosity on my finger first. That’s me and drugs. It’s not a good combination. Tell Led. Dee

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