Fentanyl

You know what I miss?  Fentanyl patches.  That's right.  Those lovely transdermal narcontic delivery patches.  Oh, they tore my skin up and that was disgusting.  But they delivered a continuous dose of medication that is unprecedented and not exactly achievable with pills unless one sets a freaking alarm and goes a little overboard.

But no, some jackasses had to ruin it for everybody and rip the patches open to get all the narcotic at once.  I loathe them as I loathe the shoe bomber and the resulting taking off your shoes at the airport.

But what I really miss is my life.  Last night I dreamt I built a time machine.  Rather than what I did in my dream (don't ask, it was a dream), instead I'd go back 1,556 days ago, run up to the car preparing to leave the bank, and throw myself on the hood, shouting "For the love of god, turn left!!!"

And so I end this rather random post by expressing this thought: "what if?"  And I don't mean what if my life hadn't changed that day in the sense you might think.  But what if my life hadn't changed?  What if hadn't grown and experienced things I never imagined?  What if I never met the people I met and been where I've been?  Eugene potlucks with kegs of Ninkasi, Sweet Life, summer in the country?  What if I'd never lost what I've lost to gain what I've gained?

There are much worse things to miss than Fentanyl patches.