On a completely different subject, what does it mean when your dog is constantly licking his ass? We've expressed his glands (ew), washed him and rinsed him thoroughly. Taken him out to go circles. I don't know what to do with this dog. I'll Google it when I'm done here. Gross Doggie. I'm just worried he has worms or something. I've seen nothing in his stool to indicate that, but when they spend so much time on their butt, I think worms. And it isn't just boredom, like the way he used to lick his shmeckle constantly, we broke him of that habit. But this is a need with him. When we tell him to stop, he looks obviously conflicted, like he wants to obey, but his BUTT!
So I'm back to looking at N's kids for the poem. Bummer. I have no idea how to elicit expression from children. I was hoping to have a mother involved to coach them into their imaginations. But I don't think N's wife has any interest in poetry. Doc will want to know why I'm dragging children into my mess. And he will be protective of N's kids. Some of the lines are pretty grown up, but nothing that will scar the psyche.
I didn't mention that there was much celebrating at the Farm yesterday. Their license just came through. They will be supplying dispensaries in town. The dispensaries opened up a couple of weeks ago, with empty shelves. And have stayed open with empty shelves. While the grower licenses have been slowly awarded. They just barely got this together, and now legislators are taking fact-finding trips to Colorado in the name of legalizing weed recreationaly here. In told Doc a couple years ago that we'd probably have legal recreational marijuana by the time we get a new president. From the looks of it, they are trying to do that.
It only makes sense. We are a tourist town. We built up all of these resort and all-suite casino hotels, we're going to build a stadium, we just did the Rock in Rio USA festival, we have a thriving hipster art scene downtown. Legalizing gay marriage in the marriage capitol of the US was a huge boon to our tourism. And what logically follows? Recreational marijuana. The rulers of the city and state have seen the fistfuls of money that Colorado is making, and they want a piece of that. They figure, they already have dispensaries set up, why not? Not realizing it would take a lot more pot shops opening up to satisfy a recreational use crowd.
And I would rather the idiots on the Strip were stoned instead of drunk. Too much bad happens with the drunk. Not so much with the stoned. Smoke a joint, grab your credit card and sit at a one-armed bandit all night watching the pretty colors and listening to the pretty noises with your stoned self. There would be a lot less urination in random places. I love the casinos when I'm stoned. I don't gamble, but I will wander for as long as I'm allowed, weaving through the machines, following the random paths on the ornate carpets that are meant to help you lose your way. I stay away from table games. If you pass by a game while someone is losing, you have a good chance of being blamed by some drunk New Yorker for jinxing him. So I just stay away from that.
M interacted with me one day on FB, and then stopped completely. Great. Makes what I said about him earlier, about not being able to approach him as a friend, even more valid.
Speaking of Facebook, don't ever get a "professional" or "fan" page. I have 50 followers on mine, with a 0 post reach. Which means that of the 50 people following that fan page, no one is seeing my posts because facebook wants me to pay to reach those 50 people. I don't even update that page anymore because it was a huge waste of my time.
And my invisibility cloak seems to have reached over to facebook. So now it's facebook and twitter. I keep up with FB because there are a couple of friends from my past who actually still talk to me on there. Well, not right now, but occasionally. I delight in their posts about their kids and how they are raising them and what values they held on to through the years and what they had to discard in order to grow up and be great mommies.
Major is driving me crazy. Ever since the Poe Adventure, he has been constantly, and loudly demanding my time and attention. As soon as he gets it, he wanders away for five minutes, only to return, loudly meowing at me to hold and pet him. When I slept in my bed the other day, he came in and got behind my head, which he can't do when I'm on the couch, and actually petted my head and meowed softly to me. I only have Chewy as a witness. But it was really sweet. And since, every time I go into my room, Major jumps up on the bed and starts meowing frantically, like he wants me to lay down with him. My "special" cat. I love him dearly, but he is damaged. I have four minutes until he comes back, I'll type fast.
Doc and I are at odds regarding my painting of Stick. He doesn't really have a vested interest in it, he just joked around and apologized to Stick that I was going to paint him. Grrr. I still don't know what I'm going to do about the cheap and well used plastic pot he is in. I cut the sleeves off of a nice color flannel today (I needed spring clothes, since we're actually having a spring this year), that I could do something with. In also have a box marked "doll fabric", and I don't make dolls anymore, so I could check that out and see what I find. But Stick is the perfect canvas to play with my tiny tubes of paint in a hundred colors on. They are just screaming to get together. The noise in my head is unbearable.
Wow, again, time has passed very quickly while I've been writing. I have an album to go find. the Kinks, "Muswell Hillbillies". It was the soundtrack to my courtship with Doc. We had a really nice morning after a night that left each of us wondering at times if it was going to end with a visit to the psych hospital. Yeah, this morning was great. I finally nailed an apology. I finally came off as sincere as I felt. My tone of voice betrays me a LOT. But it didn't this morning, and we ended up having coffee and a toke on the patio together. And it's got me feeling all nostalgic. And it really is a great album. It's all happy music. It was our compromise, since our tastes in music did not (and still do not) at all align. He met me on the audio battlefield with that and Ani DiFranco, and won me over. I met him with Sinatra and Bennett and did all right for myself. I don't think I've successfully managed to convert him to any of my music, come to think of it. He doesn't like any of the women, except maybe Johnette Napolitano, from Concrete Blonde (yeah, the same one I wrote to a couple of weeks ago). And he hates all of the men, unless they are Irish, or sound Irish. Lots of bagpipes.
He's up early. Good. It will give him plenty of time to relax and gear up for his bike ride to work. B is stalling him on the scooter bike. He's only had it two months now, maybe three. And he has done nothing with it, he says. Now he says he has to take it to his employer's (Wait, what? Taking freelance work to your contract employer to use his resources on it? Ethics, anyone? And what if his employer confiscates the bike and it turns into a thing?) to order the parts and Doc can pay him back. So, why exactly hasn't he done this yet? Meanwhile, he's spending money like mad, and sucking down half a fifth of whiskey while talking to Doc in the morning of mother's day for twenty minutes, what the fuck is going on? If he's got money, why doesn't he order the parts, like a professional, and fix the fucking scooter and then collect his money from Doc, like real grown ups do it?
Probably because Doc stopped taking weed over there. And why did Doc stop taking weed over there? Anyone remember? Because it was my crop and he insulted it up and down, and I found out about it. Doc told me. And I decreed that no more of MY blood, sweat and plants would make their way over to that house for any reason. And it hasn't. And now I'm almost out and we haven't popped the current crop yet, there were some lighting problems, so we're a couple of weeks behind, we found out yesterday at the Farm. And B's not getting any of that, either.
the crop after that will be contentious. We got a new clone. I don't remember the strain, I call it Groot. We got 6 viable clones from it, so we're going to keep growing it through this upcoming harvest, and pop it with the harvest after that. Then we'll have Groots as half our crop, if I like it. He looks more indica than sativa, which is what works for my anxiety and mild back pain and general not-being-psychotic-ness. Doc says it's a blend. We may break our rule about buying and buy a pure indica strain clone from the guys at the Farm. Or I could do some trimming for them in trade. We've tried raising from seeds, and we just aren't organized enough, even as a team to do it right. The seedlings always die. The strain we're growing is all from clones traceable back to one mother plant someone bought 5 years ago. That's how long this strain has been kept going by Doc. It's pretty weak now, but I don't need medical grade, as it isn't my only medication. It's an adjunct to the other meds I take. Yes, my shrink knows, and yes, he approves. He provided my records and a written recommendation for my medical card. He just wouldn't prescribe it because the ethics of it are still iffy in the psychiatric field, which I totally understand. I would never want him to put his reputation at risk. I was surprised that he provided the written and signed letter that was further than I expected him to go.
So, I guess it is time to go "like" my own facebook post to move it back into the timeline. I feel so cheap.