Self medicating.

I’m miserable. The shingles? They sucketh.

I’m finding comfort in some small things.

If I lie on my right side with the side of my face part-way leaning against a pillow, the throbbing in my torso subsides. Good to know.

And My Guy has been making lots of purple Kool-Aid, which, for whatever reason, tastes really, really good. I can’t bring myself to call it grape, even though My Guy assures me that it’s made from the finest grape powder. It’s purple. My Guy says this is the Iowa in me, coming out loud and proud.

And if I lie on my right side with my head just so and drink purple Kool-Aid while watching Maury? Well, right now? That’s about as good as it gets.

The Maury quote of the day comes courtesy of a woman who found out that the father of her three children had lied about everything – including his first name. Backstage, this is what she had to say to him.

When we get home? You get your bags and you get out. Get your bags, cuz that’s all you’re taking with you. I’ll give you some lunch meat, but that’s it.

I really, really hope she gave it to him by throwing slices of unwrapped lunch meat at him as he walked out the door. Maybe bologna, or maybe pimento loaf, because it’s especially gross.

This mental image just makes me feel better.

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