Vocabulary Tests

Some mornings are better than others; mornings when I get up and immediately take a Vicodin are not necessarily the best. Viz, our coffee technology consists of old Chemex drip pots and a Capresso grinder. The Capresso features a clear plastic lid on the bin where the unground beans go. Making a morning's worth of coffee involves grinding twice, once for caffienated and once for decaf. (Can you see this coming, yet?) On more than one occasion, I've removed the grinder lid, poured in one kind of coffee, replaced the lid, ground the coffee, dumped the results into a chemex, come back to the grinder, measured out the next set of beans, and dumped them ... onto the nice, clear lid, which I've forgotten is still in place. Beans here, beans there, beans all over the place. And it makes such a great noise as it's happening, too. Definitely exercises my vocabulary.

And then there was last week, when I dropped 4 or 5 of Coney Dog's allergy pills on the floor (yes, the dog's on meds, too). I can't quite bend down that far -- my knee complains -- so I thought, ok, I'll go get one of those nice upholstered cylinders we bought (Ottomans or Ottomen or whatever the plural is), sit on it, and that'll get me down far enough to rescue the doggie benadryl. That worked, but then in getting up, I shifted my weight slightly and the damn thing collapsed, dumping me on the floor, again causing me to resort to my great facility in the language of abuse and complaint.

These are the things that Doctors and physical therapists should know about -- they're the great motivators, the events that make you want to get better fast, throw away those crutches, and have fewer reasons to take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.