You’d think I’d have more impressive calf muscles

Note: When I typed that headline at first, I typed musicals. I have entirely too many Glee songs on my iPod.

Contrary to popular belief – and previous posts – this will not be about running. More on that another time. ‘Cause that’s just going swimmingly. In unrelated news, I really wish there was a sarcasm font…

OK, so. Once upon a time, I used to get frustrated at The Roommate – this was a long time ago, we’ve since mended fences, otherwise we probably wouldn’t be going on our second year of living together – because he was constantly bouncing his leg. Not a big deal, I know. But sometimes it made sounds or shook where we were sitting or something and I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just calm it down. (Love you, Cletus, by the way.)

Well, payback’s a biatch, ’cause guess what I’ve got going on these days?

I’m 99 percent sure it started when I started taking this medicine that may or may not partially share it’s name with a member of a boy band. The medicine is meant to get me to calm the eff down, by which I mean stop being a Debbie Downer and stop having so much anxiety when things aren’t going right.

And by jove it’s working. For the most part. Although now, my anxiety is all coming out of my legs.

Seriously. Doesn’t matter if I’m sitting, laying, lounging, whatever, one or both legs/feet are goin. So much so that people tell me to stop. And I really want to. And I try. But then it starts again.

I guess it’s like those commercials where they warn you of all the side effects, like if you take this pill for overactive bladder, it’ll cure that but your tongue will swell every Monday at 3 p.m., you won’t be able to poop ever again, you’ll faint every time you see the color orange…whatever those commercials say.

So yeah, I’m cured of anxiety, I guess, but now I have Restless Leg Syndrome.

Published by Laura

I've got a few stories to tell.

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