Stop, murder us not tonsured rumpots!

Last night, Princess Q walked past the entrance to my “office” and quipped, “Dad, can you say addicted?” This coming from the queen of AIM. It’s closing in on 3 am and here I am pumping out more narcissitic drivel. Judging by the details of my site tracker, my readers are no strangers to insomnia. But I have a confession to make. I’m on drugs. Ever since I started this blog, I’ve been under the influence. Prednisone. I’ve had Crohn’s disease now for over thirty years, but I won’t go into the shitty details. It’s a mild case, and when it flares up (stress will do it) I can usually knock it down with that wonder corticosteroid. Prednisone, like any other Faustian deal with the pharmacuetical devil, is a two edged sword. (honey get the blender, it’s time to mix some metaphores) It can erase my symptoms in a few hours and take my arthritic pain away with it. I feel fifteen years younger. I have way more energy than normal, I’ve eshewed my customary daily nap for more productive things. Well, blogging anyway. But on the other hand, you retain water, have a ravenous appetite, get agitated and jumpy, talk too loud and fast, and have problems sleeping. Not to mention the long term effects like bone loss and in males I think your dick falls off.
So the burst of energy that’s propelled my to keep this little celebration of myself going for three weeks now is fueled by drugs. I’m enjoying this exercise so much though, I’m really afraid that when I’m done tapering off the elixer, I’ll go back to my old lazy self, snoring away on the barcalounger instead of participating in this wildly entertaining ego circus. No! I shall persevere. I’ll overcome my natural lethargy. After all, I must think of my readers. Anyone? Hello?

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