Saturday, November 3, 2012

Dear Prednisone - Don't Let's Start. Again.

Dear Prednisone,

Well, here we are again.  I was doing fine without you.  I had heard you were over me and moving on in a healthy way.  Things were good.  Or so I thought.  I don't know how it happened, but I'm not blaming you.  Let's not do that again.   

It is what it is.  Granulomas showed up, I returned to my previous state of medical interestingness and the good doctor, fully-aware of our history, hooked us up again.  

That was six months ago.  I knew - I KNEW - that you would not uphold your end of our agreement.  I told you this was going to be a short-term deal.  You were all, "Oh, of course. Absolutely.  I understand.  I'll just help you for a little while and be on my way."  Blah-blah-blah.

I am not going through another ridiculous breakup with you.  I am not going to play along with your desperate games.  It's obvious that this time around, your strategy is to simply take everything I value away from me.  How is that supposed to make me want to keep you in my life, anyway?

My "Ross Perot '92" yard sign is a collector's item, and I was displaying it ironically.  Please return it.  Don't deny it was you, either.  Replacing it with a "Cadista Pharmaceuticals - Makers of Prednisone" sign was a dead giveaway.

My foo dog has sentimental value, and his absence renders his partner powerless to protect my home.  You probably know that.  Just give him back, please.

The lint that collects on the azalea beneath my dryer vent - well, feel free to keep that.  Freak.

The Redskins flag from the front of my house, I suppose I can live without. But I want the Nationals car flag back before spring training.

Speaking of cars - I need my car to get to work.  Seriously, where is it?

Now, while I have to admit that stealing my patio without getting caught is rather an impressive feat, I paid good money for that thing, and can't afford to just replace it.  So bring it back.  Same goes for the duck pond.  Those aren't even my ducks.  They're wild animals.  Not cool.

The worst of your thefts, however, is disturbing not for what you took, but rather for how you took it.  My collection of S.J. Perelman books and essays is obviously one of my most prized possessions, and you knew that taking it would hurt me.  You were right, of course, but what's worse is the fact that you got it out of my house, past an armed infrared alarm system and a padlocked aquarium full of (illegal) deadly and ill-tempered Gabon vipers, in a safe locked within a larger safe, locked in our panic room which was guarded by ill-tempered Rottweilers - and without any sign of forced entry or so much as a fiber or a skin cell left behind.  So, 10-out-of-10 for meanness and execution, but now I have to move.

And move, I will.  Away from you, and on.  I will remove you from my life and live happily ever after.  It might take a while longer, but happen it will.  I will see to it.  Just watch.

You think I'm fooling around with you, dear Prednisone?  Try me.


PS - Our New Song.

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