Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Hear me, God 'o Pot! I have seen your powers....

And I swear I will never take another three shot of the new pot pills I'm on now.

The pills (take one when you feel necessary) were just sitting there and I shall state that the dispenser guy did say up to a maximum of three.  One of the neat parts about being bipolar/MS is that you forget things.  Did I already take this pill?  Is this my shirt, or yours or just a shirt on the new floor. You're the blonde I'm married to, right?  (She continues to claim to be that individual, OK so with me! So far!)

Anyhow, it was Sunday and we were home and I'd taken two of the 9.7 THC pills and felt alright, like on a Wednesday afternoon when I was still working but stopping now and then to look a the tree outside my office. Sturdy and weak with giant wooden arms supporting small buds on just slightly larger sticks that pull away from the mother trunk ...

Yeah, it kind of started like, but ended up with this....

(OK, quick history lesson.  I love baseball and that has been such a part of my life, that I mourn each days from November 1 - Feb 15 as wasted days of life.  To celebrate this enthusiasm, my parents bought me a "Sports Illustrated dice baseball game."   You rolled some dice and looked at a chart to see what the batter did.  I only played a few games with it and next year it was replaced by a game called APBA baseball.  No, I don't know what the initials mean, but I think it was what the founder of the game's own baseball card league. American Professional Baseball Association

So anyway you pick two teams, get your lineups ready, scoresheets, and beverage and then roll the two dice and see what happened to that leadoff batter.  End of lesson).

Oh, this is an APBA card:

For me that night, I was playing a game between Boston and St. Louis.  Boston completed a series with the Cincinnati Reds just earlier that afternoon, (Another quick lesson.  The player cards come in manilla envelope that identify the team and league like this:                                              


I hope you see the cover in upper right.  The team is the Dodgers, but APBA figured if you'll fork over 40 bucks for the game and cards, why should they slow the cash flow by re-signing up with Major League Baseball to put authentic names to leagues, teams and in a few cases the players. OK, 'nuff said.)

As I sat there at the kitchen  table around six PM Sunday, prepping for the Boston/cardinals when the table seem to bubble and the player cards of the Reds/Cardinals/Braves seemed to slip into the wrong envelope, moving away from my hand as if my selection of him for shortstop for the Cardinals was the wrong one (it was.  That guy's a catcher). But the cards were still moving from hand to cover to lineups,  and then the little brown things came around to help move the cards faster.

Decision time for moi.  Am I actually asleep here? And this quick move to dream session normal?  I had no sense of moving my body but my wife only sitting about 10 feet away just saw me looking at the cards, and not seeing the war raging between the Reds and Cardinals across our kitchen table.  Baseball blood!

So that was my "high".  The part of me that still thinks I am fine told me just to breathe and relax. And, much to my amazement, the pot images went away.  I just sat there.  Breathed. The third pill was fading out.  The cards arrived at their appropriate sleeve and all was right.

And that was probably the first/ last time with Three-fer-me.  The pills (THC) do help in the middle of the day when I am starting to take a nap, spazz out,  and see if anyone noticed.  Since it is only Jackie here it would be thumbs up or down by the Empress and a very concerned look at her husband.  Nah, keep this one close.  Just one every 8 -12 hrs.

I was too boring as a kid to know much about drugs, except Excedrine, Kaopectate, Pepto Bismol, pimple purging pills and the clear Avon products my mother bought me.  I did see more of marijuana in college, and stayed away from it.  Why? because I am letting someone/thing take over.  And that is not allowed.  By the way, all the pot brain girls needed a ride home...And I just happen to be sober and have the Mystery Matador:

I did OK. And with the help from the support crew, I will not prevail, but I'll make it as nasty as I can for MS, like put it into the back of that Matador and drive cross country with my family. Car parts will render themselves useless, unless you need air for a flat.  That's why they made Stewart's shops for. And ice cream.  Hey how bout this - Ice Cream Brain Freeze and the three pills? Then look at the baseball cards.

Cherry Garcia bats leadoff...

Friday, May 12, 2017

Pot, Cervical Cancer and her

Monday I had settled in on the living room couch, TV remote in one hand, warm coffee cup in the other. Before me lay on the coffee table (a relic over 50 years) a small pile of books I can peruse while Masterpiece Theater goes through its beginning of thanking rich people for giving them money and encouraging them to take boat rides around Europe.  I more wait for "the not rich" people "Thank you" because I actually write checks so I feel I can pay for a hair cut on, or half a one, for Daniel Day Lewis.

Time for "Wolf Hall" author Hilary Mantle's book on King Henry VIII, and his six (VI) wives, as seen through the eyes of Henry's friend and advisor Thomas Cromwell.  The characters just seem to stand around and shiver, or die because they can no longer stand shivering.  Cromwell just walks into rooms and looks at everyone there, and then goes another room and looks around and then he'll  be mumbling "Save this queen at least!"  A British documentary had the author become a small bit player but enough to see.  Three nights, six wives, Boom! over, instead of six episodes, and two queens.  It's a thought. I have them. Thoughts.

I have been approved for medical marijuana by the State and a doctor in Angola, NY.  I was never sure if Angola was a small southern African Nation with a penchant for civil wars or a small, dying population also in need of food or the Rust Bucket remainder stretch of broken dreams near Buffalo. This led to the usual paper chase for a 60 year old trying to do paperwork and follow up, take a short turn down a street and just a million screams of the Hellroad will the be subject to your object! Finally, an answer arrived and it was, through the magical of the inter web, an ID Card, and knowledge that I now have  to learn - what my assigned case number is with the FDA (FS3473838)

Here's a picture of one the cannabis pills, just mere seconds before being consumed by me.

I took the first one around 10:00 this morning, and like I said, at 6:25 pm 5/12/12.  Still staying smooth, with minor bump or two, dizzy spells, and just keeping a watch over moods. All part of the standard MS world. The shoppe for Pot is located on a back street in Albany, not in what you'd call a nice great area, or maybe it was when Roosevelt was in the governor's chair (Frank or Ted).

The pills may help, they may not.  But I have nothing sure but a certain stretch of moments that will go from now as you read this to when the moments permanently st-.  So it allows me to toe test the 1960 or '70s other tradition while I more grooved (oh, please) with the music.  But back then I could only smell what came from a dried dusty weak, dare I say weed? stick could produce maybe. Never tried it in any form to see if it worked, or if you had any reason you really needed thought you needed it.  But I was never in the cool students groups and agreed to be a tripping victim on Thursday morning in front of science class so I could maybe not be harassed that or any day?

The info on  Cervical Cancer is about (for me)t an old friend, but old is the wrong word, she was/ is one part of my life that had college, first job, and the fun times in between tragedies.  We parted nearly 35 years ago, but I could keep an electronic eye on her through my job, though more from a database, nothing personal but that just to see if she was still around.  This friend, who with me tagging along, went to concerts of rock stars across New England, Jersey and into Pennsylvania, is now stuck in a wheelchair as she fights a bizarre version of, oddly, (or maybe not) MS.  Now, neither of us move well, or are not that good thinking.  She was always right, and I agreed.  And I helped her laugh, she said.   Yeah, I could make her laugh.  Wish I could now.

I'm just that guy from that PBS series Wolf Hall, Thomas (Martin) Cromwell.  I just go to rooms and listen, maybe say something to someone, but mostly just be in rooms, listening, and waiting for something. I'll think of what that was at some point. Probably. Well, maybe.