pills...what pills
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In a world like this and a time like ours, there's simply no reason why
anyone should feel left out; anxiety, like acid rain falls upon the just
with the same commendable impartiality. Will we join the Euro at an appropriate
exchange rate? Why is my queue at the supermarket checkout the slowest
organism known in the universe? Can anyone simultaneously hold the thought
of Ann Widdecombe and a thong without risking serious brain trauma? These,
and other questions, may exercise minds far better equipped to deal with
them than mine.
Me, I'm content merely to worry about taking my pills.
There aren't many of them, you understand. They're not like some of the
regimes I've heard about which involve taking a dozen pills a day, some
on an empty stomach, some on a full stomach, and others with enough water
to flush a toilet. In the great scheme of things, my regime is doddle:
one in the morning and four at night. Easy-peasy! There are even those
among us who quite enjoy taking some pills - like getting a free buzz
on the NHS.
So why should I get so anxious about them? Of course, we all know that
HAART is probably of the most demanding and unforgiving regime ever devised;
I was told that when I began. "You've got to think of it like brushing
your teeth" said the doctor. "I
wouldn't dream going to bed without brushing my teeth. It's the same with pills." Smug bastard. How many times, I wonder, has he rolled in the small
