Pill Explosions and Colorado is a Foot Thief

Are you all fully medicated and ready for this Socket Seekers?

This morning I was taking my HRT. I pulled out my old person wooden box of pills I keep them in—yes, I have a box of pills.

I sat it on the edge of the table because I didn't want to move my glass of water. I took my large bottle of Spiro out of the box and started to get my pill, when gravity (the thing I apparently forgot about) took over, and the large bottle of vitamins caused the entire box to fall off the table. Overconfident, I tried to catch the box of fully sealed bottles of pills from falling 30 inches to the ground—where they would have been perfectly fine—all while holding a half-full, open bottle of pills in my hand. Physics once again wasn't on my side. Did you know that if you swing your hand down violently to catch a senior citizen's size box of pills while holding an open bottle of pills they will exit with the speed of an atomic bomb all over the room? Then on impact, they ran like school children at recess across the floor. So I had to spend 30 minutes playing "where the fuck did my pills go?"

Speaking of disasters, I keep thinking my planned move to my future high desert hometown will be a complete disaster, mostly for the great people of Colorado, and possibly for me. I've fallen into that thing where I think about all the possible things that could go wrong, and then I just sit there dwelling on only those things. You know, silly things—like it's at 4,000 feet and I live in the Midwest where it's not that many feet. I could look up the exact number, but that means I tried really hard to write this, and we know that's not happening today.

Side thought: Why did I just have the thought of 4,000 dismembered feet stacked on top of each other? Did Colorado steal our feet?
Sorry, back to my doubts.

I am not sure leaving my good-paying job is a good idea at a time when AI is taking away so many IT jobs. Plus, I won't know anyone out there, which is good and bad—like chocolate-covered grasshoppers. I like the idea of being a stranger to everyone, since strange is kind of my thing. But having absolutely no support if I need help is a little scary. Then there is the trip. I have to drive across a bunch of red states... does anymore need to be said on that topic? I know it's just fear of the unknown, but the monsters in my head are always way more intimidating than real life.

Another concern I have moving to Colorado is that it's closer to the sun. I am really looking forward to it being dark earlier in the evening so I can don my black cloak and go out before 9:00 PM. I think I am a vampire that is just too old to stay up at night. Hear me out. On the weekends I sleep midday—no, I don't have a coffin, but I do have a blanket that is cozy. I think this means I could be a vampire, and not that I am over 50 and my work is mentally exhausting.

I have more proof: my agoraphobia makes it so I really like going places when it's dark and people can't see me. Now, we could blame this on my condition, or we can again choose to believe I am a vampire. I don't drink blood, but I do put my finger in my mouth if I get a paper cut, so I am not avoiding blood. And if you stab me in the heart with a stake I will die just like a vampire—now, all humans will die if you drive a stake through their heart, but let's not get all medically. I am also excited to wear long sleeves. We could blame that on my overly fat arms that look like I am carrying a grocery bag full of water on my upper arms, but if we agree I am a vampire, I am just avoiding sun exposure.

So I am going with: I am a vampire that avoids humans and just wants a nap.

Useless Recap:

• Gravity remains a highly effective adversary against my morning medication routine.
• The Midwest's elevation metrics are officially classified as "not that many feet."
• Driving a Mustang through multiple red states is a high-stakes psychological horror film.
• Empirical data confirms I am a garlic-immune vampire with grocery-bag upper arms.

Disclaimer: To the state of Colorado, please don't sue me for accusing you of stealing the Midwest's feet. Also, to the laws of physics, please stop weaponizing my Spiro bottles against my kitchen floor.