frustrating thoughts on a tuesday morning

your author, dressed for 29°F weather at 7a, sitting in the parking lot to medicate (description below)

It is currently 29°F outside, actual feel of 22°F. I am outside for my morning medication: today is cannabis and coffee. I’ve already taken my fish oil, but there’s no one to say anything about that if I take that in my kitchen. So I come outside after having dressed for the weather. This includes: underwear, thick socks, two pairs of flannel pajama bottoms, a long sleeved shirt over a short sleeved shirt, a fleece hoodie, my purple fuzzy robe with white stars, a knitted neck warmer, a knitted hat. I have spiked my coffee with hot cocoa mix and butter to make the warmth seem thicker and more long-lasting.

I have a medical marijuana card. Up until *very* recently, whole flower was not allowed to be sold in medical dispensaries. Smoking whole flower is the method of delivery that works best for me. If vaping worked for me, I could probably get away with vaping inside my apartment, although I really wouldn’t want to try. But it doesn’t. Smoking whole flower is what works. I no longer engage in practices that are meant to be good for me but in actuality, aren’t. Imagine if instead of taking your anti-anxiety meds by pill, you had to have them by suppository and you had to do that outside because that’s what the law dictated. Just because.

When it is colder than this, or when the weather is shit, or after dark (I feel like a D!sney princess out here sometimes, skunks ((Flower!)), raccoons, possums, cats, ALL the squirrels), I sit in the car. Even with the engine off, this is illegal to do. When I have zoom therapy and I am home I do it in my car or outside so that I can smoke. So that I can medicate. When I have zoom therapy and I’m at a friend’s house, I can be inside and warm and still medicate.

No other medication is subjected to restrictions and procedures like this. This is inhumane. Could you imagine if I told you you had to go outside for your heart medication if you weren’t well off enough to own your own home with private property? If I told you you had to take your cholesterol meds every morning but go outside somewhere on the street, what would happen?

And if I told you that unless you had the wherewithal, you couldn’t have a get-together with friends and have a smoke sesh. Have all the wine and cheese parties you want, every book club has its Bordeaux, every rehearsal dinner its Riesling, but no ma’am, you’re not allowed to enjoy this totally legal thing where you live, where you love, where you entertain. What would you do? What would you say?


People are going to consume where they are able to consume. Where they are forced to consume. This has always, and will continue to be what happens. By welcoming dispensaries and consumption lounges into Peekskill, by allowing smoking in specific areas of our many public parks, we are making our residents and visitors feel more comfortable and welcomed.

the time traveling doctor. 7a 20th november, 2020

Every time I have seen JJ since my husband’s death it’s all I can be reminded of. How long it’s been. I know I mention it every time I see him and I have found myself unable to stop doing so. I realize (every single time) that this is not conducive to doing more business, or good for his comfort, or for mine, in fact. His profession means that he’s going to have to deal with surviving spouses, possibly more than he thought. I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep focusing on only that anytime I see him and I fear that I may have risked ever seeing him again because I can’t stop talking about it.

Listening to The New York Times Daily podcast this morning and an interview with a woman who was a medical examiner in rural Wisconsin, who explains that she understands that as a last responder, her presence is triggering for some people forever.

Do I think that I can rewrite my own code for this relationship? Do I think that I can rewire my brain to be thankful that one of my husband’s cardiologists is such a lovely, sweet, kind person instead of having the first and only reaction to him being one of the last attendants to my husband?

Yes. Yes of course I do.
My brain is nothing but elasticity and electricity and muscle and if the past 1,164 days have shown me nothing else it is this.

Most recently, I have been learning how love can help to reframe old photographs, to view memories through a different lens. To not make excuses for, but to understand motivation. To take this current love into the past and care for the people who were hurt. To let that healing wend its way forward into the future, to meet up with the realization I have now.

I wish you could see me now. I wish you could know me, now.

expanded

it's so hard to be without you
lying in the bed, you are so much to be without…*

it is a bit north of nine am and i am driving
i am driving back up to the pottery, we are firing
we are firing and i am needed
i am needed.
i have promises to keep on my way so i do.

(i don’t remember whether the windows are open or closed;)
i am trying to remember whether it was the air conditioning or the wind that made me question
question whether i was hearing what i was.

(a few days ago ((five))
a few days ago i was insane
insane and unable to stop it

a year (?) ago i made the decision to microdose psychedelics
a couple of months ago i decided for true, and asked for help.
a few days ago i began.
i wept, shaking, shared my fear, and help came.
i did as i was bid.
i am nothing if not a good girl.

rattles in my head that empty drum filled with doubt
Everything you lose, the wisdom will find its way out

i am driving. i am listening
have been listening.
i am hearing more?
somehow the music is filling the cabin differently,
more, more separately?
more.
i can discern and follow discrete instruments and still pay attention to the words,
and it is as if the more i am noticing this the more complex it appears
while remaining fluid and whole.

i am driving home, we are done for now.
i am driving and have restarted the song
having remembered that i have this to write, to explore.
the guitars are so ripe and juicy and it is as if i can taste them.
I am heading home to Mojo.
I am heading home to no one to share my day with.
there is no one to see my face, to watch my eyes flash
as the overwhelming love i have explodes
I am balancing that thought with conversation, albeit one-sided
you aren’t there to tell
you aren’t there.

the instant, truthful thought that makes me swallow my thought as the breath to express it escapes my lips
but you were never happy for me
you were never excited for me.

but what if you were?
in the end, especially the very end but that last year
you began to see me
really see me maybe the way you did when we first met.
maybe for the first time in a very long time.

Every night is lonesome and is longer than before
Nothing really matters anymore
It's so hard to be without you
Used to feel so angry and now only I feel humble
Stinging from the storm inside my ribs where it thunders
Nothing left to say or really even wonder
We are like a book and every page is so torn
Nothing really matters anymore
It's so hard not to call you

So I do.

Thunder's in my bones out in the streets where I first saw you
When everything was new and colorful, it's gotten darker
Every day's a lesson…

The noise without no longer scares me.
It’s the noise within that does, always has.
But maybe hearing the separations, the pieces untangled
maybe
maybe that is how i untangle the noise within.

*To Be Without You, Ryan Adams