Losing your prescription is ADHD in the trenches. I mean, seriously, even I am rolling my eyes at myself.
Where was I? Oh, lost my script, right. Here I am, four pills left, with no clue where this month’s tiny scrap of paper (speaking of, why ARE prescription pads so small) has meandered off to. Is it where prescriptions have lived for the past 5 years? Nope. I have a vague memory of deciding that my wallet wasn’t the best place (WHY?) and choosing a better, safer spot. As long as safer means hidden then my plan was a success.
All of this is made worse by the ridiculous piles of random paper that litter every flat surface of my house. Despite my mediocre effort–I cannot, in good conscience, pretend that I am giving my best effort–to keep the clutter under control it permeates every available space.
I’m going to have to tear my house apart tonight. My hope is that I will find it in the process. My fear is that it inadvertently ended up in the trash during a previous purge.
I could call my doctor, but I doubt she’ll give me another script. The downside to taking a Class C narcotic, I suppose. Instead I will up my coffee intake (gasp) and buy some vivarin. Not optimal, but certainly better than unmedicated Stephanie.
Wish me luck, people. A true Scattered Mom looms on the horizon.