My pillbox reminds me of every day of the week.

Monday to Sunday,

week after week,

month after month,

year after year.

Monday to Sunday,

week after week,

month after month,

year after year.

Monday to Sunday,

week after week…

I think you get my point.

I get up

and take my medication.

Sometimes on an empty stomach

but usually after breakfast or dinner.

Monday to Sunday,

week after week,

month after month,

year after year.

And so the days, weeks, months and years go by.

At least I’ve got years,

I mean,

it’s not like it contains anything so significant –

it’s just the usual stuff that props up a middle aged man:

stuff for cholesterol, blood pressure, and that goddam prostate problem

that wakes me up twice a night to squeeze out a shivering piss in the cold tiled bathroom.

I’m not dying of cancer,

thank god.

I haven’t got HIV or some other equally incurable disease.

I don’t have Alzheimer’s – yet,

though it may be too soon to tell.

Anyway, anyway,

I actually feel pretty good most days.

No, what bothers me about that goddam pill container

is how it counts off the days.

I can’t even have a two-week holiday without it reminding me

every day

of the fact that another day has gone by,

and that there’s one less day of my holiday left.

How can you enjoy a holiday when you’re constantly being reminded

about how few days remain?

How can you enjoy your life when this goddam pill container

Is counting off the days

like grains of sand spilling from an hour glass?

Every goddam day I wake up and take my medication,

sometimes in the morning,

sometime before bed,

but usually on a full stomach.

Monday to Sunday,

week after week,

month after month,

year after year.

And that fucking pill box never lets me forget it.

Michael Wray.

04.07.2016