Mindful stonerism and Sharon the Viking thug

 

Sharon always joked that she was a viking man in another life. Possibly it was because she had the ability to generate a full Norse beard, if left unattended. She always tended to it, then later the nurses and I did it for her, shaving her once a week, but it could be a bit prickly and stubbly by day 5 or 6.

Additionally, she said she'd had dreams of herself as a male, an armored-up Viking thug, who would go about poking other men with a sword. This didn't make her character very popular, but it cemented his badass status in the village. No one ever poked him back with their swords. He wasn't doing it to kill anyone, she thought, just having a bit of fun with people.

Gender etiquette-wise, how does one address a person's essence when they have been both, apparently? I guess you relate to the current one, or whichever is primarily residing in that body at that time. That might change, even in the course of one's lifetime, sometimes subtly, and other times requiring surgery. 

Sharon liked having her girl parts, and she was quite proud of them. They were BIG girl parts. Fine by her. She was gonna take advantage of whatever it was God had blessed her with. She dominated at high school basketball, and didn't tolerate any guff from bully types, as she towered over everyone in her class. And the guys didn't mind being eye-level with certain of her more protuberant big girl parts, if you know what I mean.

But she could wear the pants and act like more of a man in our relationship than a man. This only highlighted my ability to act like more of a bitch than a bitch. Sometimes we'd switch roles, and I'd be the stable rock, and she'd be the haywire honeybee. Either way, we were made for each other. A comedy team in the making. The large domineering one and the skinny, slightly under-served in the common sense department partner/antagonist. 

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I don't know what made me think of all that just now. It is Saturday, so take that as you wish. I have no objections. I'll admit to when I'm a little bit stoned, but only when it's already obvious that I am a lot stoned. Like super-super high, which is higher than just super high. Like a whole time more amount. Y'naw mean?

Today is turning out to be a "not so terrible in many departments" day. I woke up, watered, exercised and made breakfast. Then Rich called, and I spoke with him for our usual 90+ minute gabfest. I ate breakfast and played guitar and drank some coffee before during and after the call. All successfully, so far. 

Then I smoked some weed. Also pretty successfully, I'd judge.

After a while, I went down to check the mail, finding that outside it was a pleasant 80 degrees and partly cloudy. Perfect weather to sit out on the front porch. I sat out there for what felt like 20 minutes, but was probably closer to 5 to 10 minutes, tops. 

While sitting there, I observed 4 large turkey buzzards on patrol. They were doing aerial acrobatics, at times circling up high, and at other times flying low and slow in between the trees, at eye-level with me. They made at least one pass within a hundred feet of me on the porch, where they were clearly checking me out. They keep tabs on me, they do. I've already told them that I'd feed them when I'm dead, and they just were just checking to see if I'm done yet. 

"Is it done yet?" 

"Nah, he's still kickin'. I saw his leg move just then. Let's put a pin in this and circle back on it later, shall we? Say a week or two, maybe?"

"I'll put it in my calendar. Dot dot dot. There. Aaaaa-nd....save. Ok, we're good."

So far, so good for me as well, for eluding them for yet another day. But the day ain't over, and I do plan on taking a walk later. Anything could happen, really. 

I'd like to give credit where it is due, here. If it's the weed making me stupid, or extra self-conscious, even paranoid or slightly tweaked in the awareness department, I'll gladly say so. Gets me off the hook, kinda sorta. I'm not as dumb as I really am--the weed made me stupid. 

Or if I play the guitar slightly better, or worse, I'll factor it in, giving credit or blame as necessary. Any of my real skills on the instrument came from much time playing it not high, but in a cold, sober fashion, with much repetition and discipline. Sometimes, I'd play something as many as 500 times, just trying to get it to a satisfying point. 

Last Saturday, I think the weed made an eye condition that I've been suffering from actively better. I went from thinking about it every one or two thoughts -- to never. I not only forgot about it, but it went away, too. Just temporarily, but I swear, when I checked in on myself while still high, it was markedly better. Like, below the threshold of human perception better. You can't really ask for more than that. 

So, yay weed. It made me forget my suffering for a while and also miraculously soothed my physical ailments. Miracle drug. It even improved my mood a tick or two. I won't say it's a sustainable solution. And I never claimed that it made me any smarter. Mixing cannabis with caffeine is a rodeo in itself, but throwing Bupropion into the mix, well, now you've got a three ring circus. Now you're juggling with too many balls in the air. Something is gonna come crashing to the ground at some point.

What the hell was  my point, bringing all this up, really? Oh, I remember. I was thinking of the word "mindfulness" and how certain people, myself included, only just barely tolerate the phrase. It reminds me of "mind your manners" or "be mindful of the dog poop when you step out in the back yard." It's like your parents telling you to pay attention to things, stop being a fuckup and watch what the fuck you are doing. Others see it as being in the moment, observant and aware, not necessarily transcendent, but a notch or two above the average level of awareness that most people function with. 

I'm practicing mindfulness right now, by being mindful of my mindless state. I'm paying attention to the fact that I'm fucking up in just, oh, a whole hell of a lot of ways. I don't even want to get into it. But as I make all these bad choices, I'm still practicing mindfulness, because I take note of my blatant fuck-uppery. My practice, my rules. You make up your own rules and call them whatever you like.

Mindful stonerism. That's an oxymoron, in a very literal sense, pun intended. Well, the moron part, anyway. I draw the line at opioids, so no Oxy for me. I'm just a well-regulated, average functioning slacker, with lots of unrelated problems, whose idea of church is to get stoned on Saturday mornings, play guitar and watch cartoons and old westerns. As far as things I like, it goes right up there with super-carby carbs, in that I can only tolerate so much of it without readily apparent negative results.  

Whatever. I'm not seeking anyone's approval or disapproval. I don't judge your potentially destructive indulgences. Leave me to mine; we'll get along fine. Yeah, baby. I'm rhymin' and  bustin' out the semi-colons (and the parentheses and italics.) I must still be high. Enough of this for now.

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Ok, I 86ed the idea of going for a walk. You know why? I'll tell you why. I decided that Saturday is officially declared my day of rest. Only delightful activities will be permitted. So, if something doesn't delight me, fuck it, I ain't doing it. 

I do enough walking the other 6 days to make up for it, anyhow. I now walk 5 miles per day average, on days when I walk. When I don't walk, I average less than .25 miles, just puttering around doing the minimum. Walking is a bit of a grind, and I do a lot of it, so if I can get one day a week to rest my shapely calves, I'll take it. 

Just kidding about the calves. They aren't so shapely as they are sinewy and fierce. Weapons of walking, the troops, the cavalry, the wagon train, the Sherman tank tread brigade--my legs. They take me where I want to go and where I don't care so much to go. Just everywhere, no exceptions. So, it is only fitting that they should enjoy a day of rest, if the rest of me has the day off.  

And that should go for this blogging nonsense, as well. As delightful as it may be, I mean, sheesh--give it a rest, already! 

Over and out.