November 12, 2021
I don't like this feeling at all, and I get it a lot, slip into it a lot, I'd say. Just this feeling of wanting to get in a car or on a train or a jet and just go SOMEWHERE, but I know that the feeling will just follow me wherever I go...
So I just sit and listen to music instead, going places in my head. Right now it's back to Black by Pearl Jam...
I don't have a personal attachment to the song, but I do think it is beautiful, and it is fun to hum or sing along to.
What I really need is a cave or basement that I can fill with noise-making implements.
I started reading "Crying in H Mart" a few days ago and have temporarily fallen in love with the author, Michelle Zauner.
I'll never understand so-called celebrities and such, however. Getting up every day and trying to be me is a big enough pain in the ass. It just seems like their masks are larger than mine.
I didn't get up until just before noon today, but I had a resurgence of energy last night around 2 in the morning. That's what happens when you lounge around in the recliner too much and eat chocolate. Nothing much else tastes good, either, besides this cheese and these nacho chips. The salt and sugar bastards have got to me again, but there's always tomorrow...
Isn't there? Isn't that we get up anyway, no matter what? Hope.
But I am undergoing a shift in consciousness as well. My new motto is "The days are numbered." I want to create a black t-shirt with the words "Your days are numbered" on it, in white, but maybe someone will take that personally. Or not. Not my problem, but the situation, or the idea, persists.
Gaining on 50 years of age is starting to make a lot of things very illusional to me. My patience is changing, too. I fear that one morning I am going to wake up and feel like I am on a planetary playground full of idiots, wring my hands and go back to bed.
I am not going to try that THC-O anymore. I did try it twice and it seemed to bring me down too much. If I want to get truly stoned I will wait for the real thing (AND DON'T THINK I'M NOT). I will change my name to Pot O'pot'o'poole, if need be.
In the meantimee I am left with these oil tinctures, which seem to be triggered mostly by what is in your stomach or what is not in there. Sometimes the body "high" is phenomenal, but not overwhelming. The psychic "high" is probably a tenth of what I would consider being "high" on smoke.
The delta-8 tincture takes a bit of time to kick in, up to 4 hours, so I never know how I am going to feel later on. Last night showed me that, as I suddenly started feeling great around 2 in the morning, and I stayed up until after 6a.
So I have 3 different vials which cost about 30 dollars apiece. Yellow, green and red, and they have different names and are different formulas. Yellow is the Happy vial (delta-, Green is the CBG/CBD, and Red is for inflammation. 3chi dot com is where to find such things.
I don't have a schedule for taking them, however, other than to rotate them in and out. Usually I start off with the Yellow or Green, and maybe take the red one every once in a while. I think I am going to cut that one out. I also avoid taking any one of them more than twice in a day's worth of time. It just seems like overkill.
That company is cutting-edge, but they are releasing their formulas piecemeal as more and more people find out about them. They are also not legal in every state (the states that were leading the charge for mj legalization took a bit of offense over these "upstarts" that cut out a huge piece of the logistical puzzle [large FIELDS where things are grown]...)
I miss my karaoke days, and will eventually post a video or three or four from those times, if my pride isn't hurt after re-watching the footage. I never got tired of singing, that is for sure. I am just not willing to ever, EVER drink again, and no one is paying me to do such things. Just build me a cave and give me the blueprints for wiring the batcave for sound.
I am sure that the neighbors upstairs love me. I stick to mostly humming, at least.
I will admit that a bit of me likes to aggravate them, because of what they have tried to do to me over the past several years. I have been as quiet as a cold mouse for the better part of 3 or 4 years, as I've taken the time to physically and financially recover from the insanity my life had become.
In the meantime they were working behind the scenes collectively, basically counting me out when the second knockout blow occurred (when I had that seizure a couple of years ago and fractured both shoulders and had to be wheeled out, again, to the hospital). It was a concerted effort between a handful of networked families, from all I can tell, but right now I am having the last laugh. Or vibrato.
There are 8 units in this building alone, and I am the only single individual in the building. Everyone else is either raising a family or families, as I've found so far. From what I can tell, the upstairs neighbors on the front side here are two sisters or cousins or just some man-swapping whores who are trying to raise little ones. I've seen them using different kinds of men for different purposes and have yet to see them work much, outside of the home. They have their baby-daddys, so to speak, and then they have their fuckboys.
Surely one of these days the three of their paths will cross. Or six of them. Whatever. I will be humming a farewell song, one way or the other.