Writing and Pills, Doughnuts and Murderers

I’ve talked to three different people in the past week who are feeling inspired to write, and it’s so exciting and contagious. Right now I’m wearing ripped up jeans and a tank top (grey!), which means I should probably put something together about a woman who is going to make taco salad for dinner. (It’s a true story about me! Memoir!)

I visited my doctor yesterday for my final medication adjustment appointment. (Know this: I’m taking two different pills to prevent migraines. Both are anti-depressants, although I don’t have an official diagnosis of depression. After the election, I asked if we could up the dosages a bit. I’m now feeling like I can go back down to the original levels. It’s fun to dabble with your own brain chemistry.)

My doctor: So, how old are your kids?
Me: 10 and 12.
My doctor: They’re really growing up quickly.
Me: Yeah, because they’re not really 10 and 12. They’re 12 and 14. Should I be concerned that I sometimes call the microwave a refrigerator? Last week I called out for Harper by yelling, “OSCAR!!!”
My doctor: That’s odd. Do you know an Oscar?
Me: No. No Oscars.

Once again? Perimenopause! Or maybe? Sleep apnea.

I always have trouble recalling the word Exploit, and yesterday I couldn’t think of Fritter, as in Apple Fritter. “It’s the fried apple thing. Like a cake. Bumpy doughnut apple cake.” Add this to the list of reasons why I could never run for public office. (It’s a very long list.)


Yesterday I got up and showered at 530 so I could rush out to wait in line for the Krispy Kreme grand opening. Harper wanted doughnuts from opening day, but was up super late on Monday night. I woke her up at 6:45 by handing her a box of warm glazed doughnuts because I try to be a good representative of Kindness at least every other day.

Not a Memoir
She worked in a pharmacy, and every few weeks she paid the Amish man who dropped off his homemade candy to be sold at the front counter. When she asked about his candy making process, he invited her to come to his house and check out his shop. Less than 24 hours later, she drove her boyfriend and me to a tiny house nearly 50 miles away from town. We turned off the highway onto a gravel road and drove quite awhile before arriving at the old stone house. We noticed there were no other houses in sight and we admitted to not feeling completely safe, yet we knocked on the door and were greeted by an older man who definitely looked surprised to see three people, and also definitely did not look Amish. He led us through the house to the basement door and down the stairs into a room lit by a single hanging light bulb. He showed us a card table and a few bags of sugar before he started mumbling about needing to go to town. She looked at us and whispered, “I think we need to get out of here.” We thanked him for his time and walked back up the stairs, through the house, and out the front door. He followed us to the car and told us that we owed him a ride. She told him we had plans and couldn’t take him. He became angry, so we jumped into the car and started backing down the gravel driveway as quickly as one can back down a gravel driveway. He chased us and slammed his fists against the car several times before we were able to gather enough speed to get away from him. He never returned to the pharmacy with his candy.

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14 thoughts on “Writing and Pills, Doughnuts and Murderers”

  1. The paragraph about not remembering the word Exploit is juxtaposed with the photo of large cars in the drive-through line, so I was totally expecting a joke about the Ford Exploit. Next time, maybe!

  2. Last time I went to my NP for those things, she said the word “perimenopause” to me about some of the things I have going on and I’M TOO YOUNG FOR THAT. (I’ll be 42 in 2 months.)

    You are an excellent mom for braving the Krispy Kreme on opening day for fresh donuts.

  3. :-|

    Whilst Mr. Not Amish Guy is nothing like John B. in the Kindness category, your story did make me want to be 100% sure that you’ve surely already listened to the “S-Town” podcast, amiright?! You have. Haven’t you? If not, *do not Google.* Just listen to (at least) the first two episodes and then tell me if you can stop. Please? So good! John B. does not bang his fists on people’s cars when they leave down his long driveway, although I suspect he desperately wants to, but for very different reasons. :-/

  4. I’m having a statue made of Kathy S for my dashboard.

    And the candy man? Very creepy.

  5. Peri men is worse than actual menopause it seems— did say “cabbages” for “cottages” once and other verbal failings….. much better now have had migraines as well. Good luck creative lady. : )

  6. I actually have to stop in the middle of sentences and say, “Hang on. Word finding problem.” I yelled, “Damnit, head!” the other day.

  7. Eventually you will get to the point where you just cheerfully say, “I don’t remember words like I used to. If I think of it, I’ll let you know.” Then you’ll forget about it altogether, so it won’t bother you. Later, you’re in the middle of dinner, or driving to the grocery store, and a random word pops into your head and you say it out loud, knowing that you wanted to say it, but not remembering why.

    But even that won’t bother you, because you just can’t walk around upset all the time because there’s a name for that thing that you used to know but don’t any more. You’ll find “bumpy doughnut apple cake” gets you where you need to be just fine.

  8. I have one of those parachutes that are for playing with groups of small children and every single time I want to call it a trampoline. Then I have to have a long, earnest discussion with myself inside my head to figure out what it is really called. My husband now knows what I mean when I say “that thing I want to call a trampoline but you use it to jump out of planes.”

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