Dear Six Bottles of Pills,

Thank God I posses the capacity to despise you

I can picture you all in your assembly line laboratories of origin
A machine for the small-in-size-but-not-in-consequences capsules of dubious alchemy

Sweltering factory hellfire to mold your 33% recycled content who-gives-a-fuck plastic bottles
Bottles that are always hideous

Congratulations you are sick in a most devious fashion
Now you must manhandle these six eyesores everyday twice a day for the rest of your life
Its offensive
Amongst other complaints that shouldn’t matter when you get down to it but do

I’m sure there’s some guy pulling minimum wage to refill the ink for these labels that are supposed to reassure me that I’m choking down the proper medley of voodoo science
I’m told it keeps me stitched together
I wish I had evidence to the contrary

And may I just say: It’s absurd to give us afflicted folk an “easy open” bottle only to seal it with a more impenetrable cousin of foil and add a friendly pull here tab which in all my years has never done anything more than twist and stretch in a manner that is obviously mocking

Then there’s an entirely different kind of bottle
Your Sultry Sister
Remember her?
Like the rest of you, her insides smell tantalizing of sterilized plastic
It’s a smell that permeates all things hospital and when I get a whiff of hospital my body shouts, “Morphine!”

Similar to how wasabi or a light rain on hot pavement that hasn’t been rained on in awhile smells exactly like that very special kind of powdered sugar that drop kicked me westwards out of The Windy City
Just in time to witness The Writer’s Strike bitchslap Hollywood
The vitality of our economy plunging in an inverse correlation to the progress of my City of Angels assimilation

I can’t seem to find a kindred spirit, one who is familiar with my once-upon-a-time constant search for flat surfaces in public restrooms, to corroborate my nose re: wasabi and sidewalk

Back to Sultry Sister
She’s one messed up come-hither chick
With her little morphine-esque pills nestled in her morphine odor
She was like sloppy seconds though because I wanted the real thing but I didn’t tell her that because I was lonely
The someone told me I should break up with her because, you know, her credentials are totally bogus
I was in no place to argue with that person’s kindness and expertise

Now I’ve got the six of you

I’m still mostly bereft of flat surfaces in restrooms because I haul this Mary Poppins bag around as I traipse around this fine city and I often need to rifle through it for perfectly legal and appropriate items and the sinks typically offer only water-slick edges too precarious for my life-in-a-bag thankyouverymuch and the bathroom floors I tend to find myself on are clearly winning the war with all notions antibacterial

Flat surfaces

Now I’ve got the six of you and if I’m diligent I will get to be a version of me that’s a close approximation of myself – enough, that I will be able with full range and depth of emotion properly hate the fact that I have to maneuver you all down my throat twice a day every day for the rest of my life

*image not my own