It’s a little past 8 in the morning and I am not rested. I occasionally get bouts of insomnia, which if you know insomnia is kind of a dick. It was four something this morning when I was still up, bitching at the ceiling and my stuffed animals that the pill I’d taken for nausea was doing the opposite of its job.
So to keep missing busy I decided to install an assistant on my phone. An English patch isn’t available for my favorite anymore, so I decided to try something different.
Kicked myself in the teeth when I asked Andromeda (yes, my phone has a name) how to set up Siri. I am an Android user. I do not have Siri. I’m two seconds from correcting myself when Cortana opens and—
Well, I liked that tutorial. It boils down to “Boss me around, we’ll work on nuances later.”
I then set about half a dozen reminders—a function I’ve missed since my Windows Phone days—and took a hit of grape Tylenol.
I woke to a jangly cacophony of alarm tones at about five minutes before it was time to leave. For some fucking reason I glanced at my phone and muttered: “More cowbell.” THEN I spotted the pair of redflats that had made snack of my hand. It will swell up ugly but it’s all they got. The morgue grows.
Shotgun meds, out the door. Not nearly awake.
I’m still amused that CHILDREN’S TYLENOL stacked on this tramodol—which my doctor’s claiming to be a narcotic but all the research says no—is in fact helping. I’m also amused that he almost wilfully overmedicated the otc component but undermedicates everything else. A round of applause for the ever underappreciated pharmacy technicians who keep us from doing the dumb when the doctors aren’t paying attention
I’ll let you know what I think of Cortana in a week.