I watched the first episode of "Weed Wars" on Discovery the other day. Makes me want to move to California. I couldn't afford to live in California. Meh. Ok, rephrase: Makes me want to move to one of THOSE states.
If you haven't watched Weed Wars, it is all about the inner workings of a marijuana dispensary in Oakland, California. Wretched people with various hideous ailments start lining up outside the store well before it opens, all of them clamoring for the best and most expensive pot money can buy. It reminded me of old footage of the Great Depression I've seen, with people in cardboard shoes and tattered suits lining up at soup kitchens. Apparently this impressive queueing is an everyday occurrence since that store reportedly cleared $120 million last year. If I went to that store I'd have to send an agent, as I'd be unable to stand up for as long as it takes. Sheesh.
Gabapentin, which is the latest offering from the pain monger, makes me sleep. I can only take it at night. I have been warned by the neurologist to not exceed the dose I'm on now or it would be neurologically devastating. I am on the minimum dose. I still hurt.
When I went into the neurologist's on Tuesday I checked in with a fever of nearly 102. That means I'm sick with something. I feel like a wet dishrag. Limp and weak on top of my usual limpness and weakness. Yay. Back to riding the couch, sucking Communist Nyquil, and waiting for less ass-dragging to occur. Don't wait up.
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