Things are really kind of rough, which is why I'm writing this in the middle of the night while listening to Joyce Meyer. Pain and nausea just preclude sleep.
Yes, medical marijuana had been suggested, is legal in my state (so is 'recreational' marijuana), and no, I don't use it.
Bigfoot arrived at the ball,
wearing a tuxedo,
and there he leaned against the wall,
smoking a torpedo.
Someone told him Cheech and Chong
described the best life to be had,
but it wasn't very long
'fore he got the munchies, really bad.
First the hors d'oeuvres disappeared,
and it wasn't that much later
(just as everyone had feared)
that he tried to eat the waiter,
and thus is learned the reason why
you don't get a mythic creature high.
The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is REALIZE.
Or maybe REAL EYES?
I once knew a stoner dude
who really should never have used,
because his once-sharp attitude
came to be dazed and confused.
He once forgot where he had left
his vital backpack and his bike,
and new-bought gear he had to heft
on his lengthy get-home hike,
only to find said Missing Schwinn
still parked in his living room,
and backpack (with all kept within)
resting in the shadowed gloom
of the closet, dark and cool
of a weed-besotted fool.
Three minutes for a true story, and this was a friend worth having.
Music from Brewer And Shipley (opening in a new tab) with One Toke Over The Line.
Sylvia's high is McDonald's ice cream. Mine, too.