The Price is… Too Much

Firstly, I apologize for my recent absence.  With the holidays and travelling and personal matters I cannot share at this time, and an officially broken wrist, I have been too distracted, tired or sore to go on social media.  I needed a break (pardon the pun).

Not much has been going on here but a few minor observances and a shit load of Netflix watching.  I’ve watched a few movies I enjoyed like I, Tonya, and the Disaster Artist.  I was pleased to see Franco take an award for that.  I blew through the Wormwood series in a day, I enjoyed the biographical movie All Eyez on Me about the iconic Tupac Shakur.  It’s been pretty quiet here.

Quiet.  That’s something I enjoy.  Peace and quiet.  I don’t like loud things, loud movies, loud shows, loud noises.  I’m an aficionado of documentary films and quiet quirky humor without the blatantly obnoxious laugh tracks.  I’m a big girl, I know when to laugh, thanks.  Even my musical tastes have changed.  When going for my MP3s to accompany house cleaning, I’m beginning to shy away from the loud raucous rock and metal that I used to listen to, opting for Radiohead, Wilco or, most recently, Diana Ross and the Supremes.  You can’t go wrong with Motown.

Cannabis brownieWhich brings me to the crux of my story.  Recently I acquired a medicinal brownie.  I’ve been pretty blunt and upfront about the fact that I have a permit/prescription to possess medical cannabis for chronic pain and PTSD.  So, I got this brownie..  Keep in mind I am very experienced, a veteran of cannabis if you will.  I have been using it for about a decade for pain, I have done my research, I know my strains and I know my doses.  I have never had a bad experience… Until now.

This brownie was about 3 inches long and maybe an inch wide.  I split it in half.  It’s a Saturday night so I offer the other half to my partner so she can relax.  Apparently this was not a 2 dose brownie.  I repeat, NOT a 2 dose brownie.  In actual fact, this was a four or 5 dose brownie.  So we unknowingly nibble at our brownies while enjoying a cup of coffee with a little Baileys in it.  Mistake number 2.  Do not mix said brownie with alcohol, even the wee bit of Baileys you dumped in your after dinner coffee.  I put on a recent episode of The Price is Right for shits and giggles.  We don’t have cable so occasionally I find game show episodes online for us to watch so we can feel like real people that have cable.  The Price is Right was mistake number 3.  It was at the second big wheel spin to see who the showcase showdown opponent was going to be when the brownie took hold.  

Holy fuck.

Too much
Too much The Blog BroadThere were flashing lights, bells ringing, thunderous applause, ” It’s a brand new car!!!” , people screaming and molesting Drew, saying hello to every fucking person they knew, people losing their shit screaming down aisles flailing their arms, people pushing past stunned models to grab at their haul of prizes, people screaming random numbers at shocked contestants, weird T shirts begging to Drew to love them, flashy costumes, honking horns, that yodelling Swiss guy, then it’s topped off with guilt about the unneutered pet population.

How do people watch this?

How the fuck does Drew Carey sleep at night?  No wonder he’s lost weight, poor bastard probably has PTSD.  I sure hope they pay him well and he has a good benefits package.

How did Bob Barker do it all those years?  I mean that guy was old as shit when he retired. 

That show is like an overdose of Aderall with a hit of meth all in one 21 minute episode.  It was too much.  TOO MUCH.

This brownie was too much.  TOO MUCH.

All we could do was go lay on our bare bed, (I had the brilliant idea of washing the bedding pre-brownie).  We had been over stimulated.  We grabbed the comforter and threw it over us like a protective fort.  Looking at each other under our fort all we could do, was repeat “Too much.  Too much.  Too much.”  

The lights were too much, music was too much, smells were too much, touch was too much, The Price is Right  was TOO MUCH.

I vomited a couple of times and crawled back into the fort with “C”.  We fell asleep.  I eventually woke up and finished the laundry but “C” was out for the night.  Lesson learned.  Well played meth brownie, well played.

It did get me thinking about how The Price is Right kind of mirrors American society.  

Play the game, win prizes!

The more shit, the better!

LOUD LOUD LOUD!!  with some screaming for good measure

It’s all about advertising, but throw in some literal bells and whistles and flashing lights and no one’s the wiser!

I want it all now now now

Who cares about the fine print, like duties and taxes that need to be paid, a lot of people don’t even take their prizes because it costs too much.  Nothing is truly free but it looks like it is and that’s all that matters


Yay!! America! 

yeesh… 

Too much. 


Live Humbly, Start Small, Live Cautiously,

Sam


Images

Hank Hill/ too high  http://media.ifunny.com/results/2014/02/06/yqeg15gwyf.jpg

Price is Right gif  https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/tpir.gif?w=650

Brownie/Selfie are my own.

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I Can’t Throw it Away, These Things are Valuable to Some People…

mangrove tree  Trying to pull it together after a week of pure exhaustion.  I have Fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, arthritis everywhere and degenerative disc disease so I have bouts of pain and exhaustion where I fluctuate from suffering from insomnia to chronic fatigue.  I spent the evenings unable to sleep and having to nap in the afternoons.  My brain has been so foggy.  I’m somewhere in that space between not really awake but not exactly asleep but walking around. Miraculously.   Yesterday I went out with 2 different shoes on and I didn’t even notice.  Everything I eat makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.  It’s like having the flu.  I woke up this morning completely soaked.  Had to change and crawl back into bed.  I barely remember because I was still partially asleep.  I couldn’t wake up and get up so I slept.  I slept until 11am.  What woke me was another nightmare.

 

I usually dream the same things over and over again.  The world outside is chaos.  Something has happened.  Something from the skies.  We’re always watching the skies.  People are travelling in small groups of people trying to stay safe and unnoticed.  There’s no food, and there is destruction and devastated buildings everywhere.  We have to to stay quiet and unnoticed because if they hear us, they will take us.  I don’t know who they are.  I never see because I usually wake myself  up screaming.  My dreams are terrifying and violent.   I’ve had dreams similar to this for most of my life.  I have had PTSD for most of my life.  Another way I wake up is I’m yelling at my parents.  Usually my father.  We fell out a couple of years ago over money.  He had co signed a line of credit for me in 2007 to go back to school.  I went back to get certified in Fitness Instruction, Personal Training and Nutrition and Wellness.  That was going to be my career and I was really good at it.  Then I got sick.  I had to have emergency surgery one night from endometriosis complications.  I was off work for a while but I was unable to ever fully return to my normal capacity.  Over time my Fibro came back full swing with new symptoms added.  Arthritis became crippling some days.  I missed time from work and kept getting fired from job after job.  The stress of not being able to eat or pay rent or take care of everything while being sick and getting sicker was awful.  Again.. No support or caring from my father or stepmother.  I was put off work years ago because of illness.  My stepmother thinks I’m lazy and so does my father.  Kept telling my to get my shit together .  I’m sick not lazy.  They don’t understand that I am actually ill.  So when I was unable to keep up the payments on this line of credit, my father cut me out.  He told me he did not want to see my face.   That was almost 2 years ago now.  My mother and I haven’t spoke in five years or so.  She has a lot of health problems as well, in fact we share many of those- thanks DNA, but I was told by my stepfather years ago that I wasn’t to call there anymore.  If I had something to say, to put it in an email.  I know my mother has moments that she could speak to me for five minutes.  She chooses not to.  She’s chosen not to since I was 26.  I had a rocky relationship with my mother until about 12 where we became friends.  I say friends because she was never consistently in my life like a mother should be.  My father just ignored me but she would be in and out like the seasons.  In while my stepfather was away at sea and she was lonely, out once he retired.  

 

All I’ve ever wanted is to feel loved by my parents and to feel close, but instead I felt like an old antique piece of furniture being passed back and forth.  “Well I don’t want it right now, so I’ll just store it in the attic in case I need it for something, I mean, I can’t throw it out, these things are valuable to some people.”  I guess not everyone gets the supportive advice, the encouragement, the hugs, the “I love yous” , the birthday cakes, the gifts, the help, the empathy, the compassion.  I’ve been pretty much on my own since 13 with the occasional help from them of say groceries for my birthday.  I’ve lived with my father but I was ignored.  Like not even told there was dinner ready ignored.  No one noticed my good grades, no one noticed how hard I was working at university, or the fact that I never asked them for anything.  Ever. (Except for that line of credit in 2007) I overdosed at 18 on Valium and slept in my bedroom for two days and no one noticed.  When I got married in 2011, my mother and stepfather didn’t attend my wedding, nor did I receive a card or a present.  I noticed my youngest step brother got married this past month, my invitation seemingly lost in the mail.  My stepfather made it to his wedding I learned.  My stepfather.  He taught me some things and helped me different times but he was more of the same.  There, then not there, then don’t call me.  

 

All this stuff seems to come up when I go through a flare.  I guess it’s because it’s when I feel most vulnerable.  I so wish I could hear an encouraging “I love you” or a hug or “I’m sorry that you’re having these problems, can we help?”  I hear my partner talking to her mom and sister on the phone and there’s always this little piece of me that breaks a little inside.

 

My parents are getting older, approaching their seventies and I know that things will never be resolved with us.  The chaos I grew up in, the things that happened to me and not having their help, their protection, their guidance or love.  Even my health needs went unmet which in turn has complicated my health now.  In today’s world, I would have been removed from that home.  I saw things and knew things children should never know or be exposed to.  Nothing…  There will never be anything different with them.   

 

Seeing how difficult it is to attain mental health help in addition to the family doctor I am waiting for, 2 years now.  I felt like the only means available to me is to write about it.  I can’t afford the treatments that many people have access to and I have no health coverage.  The only thing I have is my writing.  I have hesitated to really put things out there for a long time.  I already got yelled at by my brother because of “how I write about our parents” he is my step mother’s son from her previous marriage.  Her only child.  He got taken care of well.  Very well.  I on the other hand was not her problem.  He doesn’t realize that despite us living under the same roof for 6 years we have lived very different lives.  

 

My family doesn’t care about me.  I have one cousin that I wish lived closer but I even tend to keep her at arm’s length because I don’t trust she’ll stay in my life either.  My now ex wife cheated on me and we divorced in 2014 so yeah, now I have some serious abandonment issues and PTSD and chronic pain and poverty and bad credit and all the other shit that comes with being chronically ill.

 

I prefer for people to think of me as witty and happy and clever so I tend to only write when I’m feeling upbeat but that isn’t realistic.  Life isn’t always like that.  Sometimes, life is just shit.  

 

I hope I feel better tomorrow.

 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

 

Image

“Mangrove Trees” by 9comeback  www.freedigitalphotos.net