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It's the drugs, I swear

In four days I start Lupron. In my mind, though, the cycle is already well underway. I'm already wound more tightly than...than...some excessively tightly wound thing...and obviously already suffering from the breathtaking cognitive lapses that plagued me last time.

Last time around, nobody told me that the worst side effect from all my medication would be that I'd lose my fucking mind. The drugs really should come with a warning label: While using this drug, patients should not operate heavy machinery. Or shower.

A quick flip through my journal reminds me that not only did I take the car up two one-way streets, jumped the curb at least twice, burned myself on the iron, nicked my hands with a chef's knife, grated my thumb into a pile of Parmesan cheese, and set off the smoke alarm so often it sounded like we were at DEFCON 2, I also apparently forgot how to use toiletries.

The documentary evidence seems to show that one morning in the shower, I shampooed my hair as usual, rinsed it, and picked up the conditioner...which I then dispensed into my hand and proceeded to rub all over my body. I couldn't figure out why it wouldn't lather.

Five minutes later, I applied hair product to my face, for that bouncy, manageable look that turns heads on the street.

"And I can't be sure," I wrote on February 21, "but I have the strong aroma suspicion that I applied deodorant only to one (1) armpit."