I know that it’s only a state of mind

Insomnia that lasts more than a week is a curious thing with which I’d rather have no more experience. As seems reasonable to expect, from about the fourth day onward the ole thinkeroony becomes unreliable, which is terribly inconvenient because I’ve always got clients expecting me to deliver some software that I’ve agreed to write for them and I am, at those times, completely disabled. Software is all and only about the logic of it, and when the thoughts won’t fly in formation as they need to in order for me to read the messages spelled out in their contrails the only wise choice for me is to acknowledge that I cannot do my job. That’s a blow straight to the ego as well as the bank account. I begin to wonder when my clients are going to become as tired of it as I am. No pun intended, believe me.

Thankfully, the most recent episode has ended so I’m just a couple of days now from my aberrant normality. No worries there.

At about ten days I experience a mild depression that will come and go for the remainder of the phase even if the phase lasts a month. What a great time for a depression, when your mind is just a sorely missed and still quite dear but very much former companion. It gets me every time. A word of advice: If you’re north of forty, “what have I got to be depressed about?” may be a question best left until happier times are upon you. But it’s a question I’m good at answering for myself: I have irretrievably alienated essentially everyone who ever loved me, haven’t held a steady job since 1994, haven’t got credit enough to buy a can of soup… the last thing I need is some clinical depression robbing me of the ability to enjoy being the luckiest fucker I know. So, ya know, once I get my head around it the depressions aren’t at all bad. Two weeks of insomnia IS a depressing thing, but it’s just a bad trip, man.

Speaking of which, being in recovery but not yet recovered from the bat shit non-circadian temporary insanity and also freshly out of marijuana, today was a very good day to go to my new favorite marijuana store. It’s not as good a store as the one I used to frequent, but it’s a lot closer. At the local scale, closer counts for a lot and especially so in all of those months that aren’t summertime — the towns are generally about forty miles apart so that’s the size steps we take to go places. The new favorite pot shop seems remarkably close, being just an hour away. But that’s not the good part. The good part is that the luckiest fucker I know walked into that pot shop that’s just an hour from his house…

… and there he found: Durban Poison. The long wait was over at last. I had been wanting to find my old all-time favorite since Colorado legalized, but it evaded me until today. I almost passed on it. Really, I did. I suddenly didn’t want to risk finding out that the Durban Poison I remember had improved by aging in happy memory, as it is said our memories of whatever we consider good old days are likely to do. Then Amethyst saw it, and pointed it out to me, and though she wants none of it she was excited that we had just completed a quest and the Durban Poison was now there before us on the shelf. With that, I just had to buy it. And feel silly about my initial reluctance.

Then the nice young man behind the counter informed us that the Durban Poison was on special today. See? Toldja. I’m the luckiest fucker around. I found Durban Poison for the first time I’ve seen it since Jimmy Carter was president, and it was on sale.

And, get this: The place has punch cards. In accordance with customary pot shop humor, they call it The Baker’s Dozen. Buy twelve top shelf eighths, get the thirteenth free. Offer good on top shelf marijuana only. May not be combined with other offers. Limit one punch per visit. It says all that stuff right on the card. I got two punches in my brand new card. Hmm. I’ll bet they’re getting all potted up on weed and don’t even care that they’re breaking their own rules. Still, I consider that a modern marvel. A marijuana punch card. Now all I have to do is find a sandwich shop somewhere that also has a punch card program, and if I coordinate it right I can get both free pot and free food in one outing. It’s the little things.

I am very happy to report that the Durban Poison is just as I remember it. Very happy, easygoing, friendly stuff. “It’s gonna lessen your load”, as Humble Pie sang it. I have an entirely different musical association with it, but it’s a different story. I’ll leave you with it just the same:





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