CONTRACEPTIVE DAYS…

I consider myself a dedicated employee, but honestly, the only reason I manage to wake up at the same early time every morning is because I have to drink my little hormone hero. Without that itty bitty pill, my body falls apart and my little girly bits turn against me like the nasty ho-bags that they really are…

The other morning I woke up from never really having fallen asleep, and I pondered the extent to which the violence with which my face was forced into my pillow was ageing me, when my eye caught the envelope of contraceptive pills on my nightstand.

I don’t know why my thoughts accumulated around this little silver envelope that has occupied a permanent place on my nightstand for the last what seems like thousand years. But it did. On the back of the envelope the days of the weeks in a 28 day cycle are printed in the smallest possible type.

For almost 20 years every day of every week of every month of my life has been indicated on the back of this envelope. For almost 20 years the days of my life have been counted down by the early morning swallowing of a little white sugar-coated pill.

That got me thinking about my days…

On some days the pill swallowing were followed by a bit of work and a bit of fun and a bit of mundaneness. On other days the swallowing – I’m proud to tell you – were followed by a bit of work and an excess of margaritas and Mexican food and overly rambunctious laughter. But too many days of pill swallowing result in entire days’ dedication to work. Work that occupies 14 hours of menial and uninteresting labouring, or 14 hours of concentrating on academic tasks that is super unlikely to result in a Nobel prize ceremony. But many days occupy a mere 8 hour work day and about 6 hours mulling over things that have to get done or said the next day… And those are my worst days…

I guess if I had any power, each morning’s pill swallowing exercise will result in a different adventure. Tomorrow a magic carpet from the rich and opulant land of Abu Dhabi will land at my bedroom window and whisk me away to lands different from my own. And perhaps the day there-after I will save a life. And then, maybe, I will liberate a nation.

The reality is that I’ll awake tomorrow with the same shortage of courage that kept me from escapades and telling my boss to go make love with herself today. Magic and adventure will be as much in my hands as it were today.

This reality becomes urgent when I’m reminded of my age, and of the times we live in. My days of pill swallowing may soon be over. How many of those round little white drops will I wake up early for?

Regardless of the number…I just hope that the majority of swallows are followed by the exercise of creativity and bravery and honor and a serious enough desire to matter to force me to action. I hope my mornings are not overcome with the burden of ‘just getting it done’…

But before the next swallow…let me swallow some chococino…

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