Flying Slugs

This month has just up and flown by. At a slugs pace, mind you. Didn’t even know that dichotomy was possible. Has this ever happened to you before?

I’m counting the minutes, hours, days ‘til Friday is here. Reveling in every quickie happy hour I’m able to sneak in. There will be at least two this week! One that includes chocolate fondue. Mmmm.

But the pile of work before me is – well? Quite honestly? Ooky at best. And I’m wading through it. Getting there, one step at a time. I can almost see the light at the… no, no, that’s not light, that’s… ewwww. QuickBooks. Sigh. The end of the tunnel is still illusive.

And then I look up long enough to spy the time – oh, got to go get the kids soon! And the date – oh holy crap the bills are due. Then I look back at my pile and decide that the hour that’s between me hopping into the car and actually doing it is going to last a life time. ‘Cause I don’t want to do it!

Whiney, that’s me.

Last month I was chanting May May May – wanting it to get here. Now May’s almost over and I’m kinda doing that reverse breathing thing, like sucking on an asthma inhaler: enuJ enuJ enuJ. Think that will help?

‘Cause I’m more comfortable with the slugs pace time than the fast flying time.

It All Started With Hemp Fest 2011

Doesn’t that sound, I dunno, like the first line of an incredibly mellow murder mystery or something? Surely not the title of a blog. But I was at a loss. So there you go.

My first hemp fest coincided with the outlining of my story “Going In” which I *think* I’m done editing. Or not. Can’t. Stop. Editing.

All that to say: Enter medical cannabis into my manuscript.

The main character is a terminally ill sky diver who is fighting death to it’s last breath. Enter a grim reaper… and of course, cannabis. Lot’s of 420 going on in this story.

I am far from an expert, but I’ll share a little bit of what I learned from a whole lot of reading. Had to make sure I’m at least in the realm of believable about this topic.

There are different kinds of this very useful drug. Who would have thunk? From what I understand, Sativas are used to enhance alertness and focus, as well as to increase appetite. Many of them seem to have a high THC content which delivers a head high, with a lower CBD count. CBD is known for reducing inflammation and nausea. You can find this in a few strains, but I’m mostly interested in the Indica strains, which offer a good nights sleep in addition to the anti inflammatory benefit.

Also? If you’re reading this and you have something to share, ask, say on the topic? Please share.

Here’s an interesting blog I found about THC and CBD counts in medical marijuana. Very easy to understand.

I’m not a pharmaceutical kind of gal, so it’s good to know that as I age there will be something to help ease me into the golden years.

Ha.

I’ll be the one in that retirement community located at 420 Take It Easy Street . Anyone want to join me?

Found This Skydive Dubai Video on Youtube

Just had to share. A real pick me up for a Tuesday. Research is awesome.

And beautiful.

Riding It Out

Three days ago I was getting antsy.

Just two days left.

Two.

I had a sinking feeling – you know, like when you’re on a roller coaster or a log ride and your stomach just falls to the floor? You’re holding your breath, waiting for your heart to catch up to your brain and start beating a million miles per minute. Right before then.

That was telling me that the next deadline, May 10th, wasn’t it for me either. It just isn’t my year. For contests, at least.

Oddly, my intuition was right. Even odder still? I am okay with it.

There is so much going on that it’s good I’m not going. My oldest, Bunny Wabbit, leaves for camp right in the middle of the Squaw Valley Writers thingamajig. It would be sad not to be there for her coming of age ceremony. My youngest, Little Bear, would be sister-less *and* mommy-less for two days or so and that would be a little hard on her.

So maybe life is just telling me to slow down and enjoy the ride. Which doesn’t sound half bad.

Anyhow, even though that bitter sweet moment has passed, my hands are raised, waiting for the quick descent. Something tells me that even though *this one* got away, it’s not the only one. So I may have a temporary reprieve, witnessed by the mid-day nap in the sun, the grand barbecue and the bonfire in my backyard that is still going on as I write. Can you hear the campfire songs?

I might be taking a breath of relief, but it’s not over.

Nope, it’s not over ‘til the curvy lady screams.

And I’m not screaming yet.

Journaling From A Tattoo Parlor

Incase you are wondering, I write more when under duress. Sorry ‘bout that. If this is normal or not, I don’t know. But there it is. It always starts with my journal. I busily scribble down my thoughts, trying to wade through the good and bad and see where it takes me. Sometimes something brilliant (ha) comes out of it and it turns into a blog. Sometimes it turns into a short story. Other times it’s just utter nonsense.

Right now I am journaling from a tattoo parlor. Sitting here in a very uncomfortable position waiting for a friend who needed a shoulder to lean on while she got some ink. I’m in Ballard, one of my favorite places in Seattle. Pretty much on the party central portion of Market Street. Only I’m sitting here typing and listening to Slim Shadey and the White Stripes while enduring the bzzz bzzz bzzz of other peoples pain, instead of partying. ‘Cept I’m bzzz’ing too. ‘Cause ONE glass of wine got me this way. Cheap date, I know.

This is a sad time for me. With the wine and the journaling, I’m just letting myself feel it. A friend passed away today. She was an amazing person. Very wise and loving. I’m sad she left before I could see her again. Sad for her daughter, whom death won’t be quite as easy to digest. I mean, it’s her mommy! That and it’s the ten year anniversary of my niece’s death. Sigh.

Sure, all of us will die someday, some sooner than others. This, I know. But my mommy is dying as well. And I was *so* mad at her for a really long time – a little guilt there, you know it. But I’m not mad anymore. For once I can look at her for what she was, the strong woman who shouldered through a ton of diversity and difficult relationships, even if she did need a crutch or two. Still needs a crutch. Don’t we all? Who am I to judge?

This too will help me in some way, though I’m not sure just how yet. I have been able to write more honest and angry than ever. More gory and shocking. Keep in mind I’m on -> that side of shocking and gory. There’s something for that, I guess. The “shocking” story, titled “Baiting For You” will go up on Smashwords the same time as the old one, “Half Past One,” gets put back up. I’m aiming for end of June.

So what is “Baiting For You” about? I’d say the title is pretty revealing lol. I’ll keep you guessing.

Raise a glass for me, toasting the good and the bad, the past and the present, the here and the now.

Cheers.

And maybe? Give someone a hug for me. I need one, that’s for sure.