At least I am home

I was getting ready to go to the community church here where I live last night for a bit of free food, when out of nowhere I felt like I was going to puke. I went to the bathroom and stood there with my head hanging over the bowl for a couple of minutes, but nothing manifested itself.

I sat down on the footstool for a few, waiting to see what was going to happen. The nauseous feeling passed. I looked up to heaven and gave God a shout out.

“Don’t let me hurl on all of the nice folks at the church, please.”

My daughter and I left, stopped at the drugstore in town for a bag of dog food and then scored a parking spot right by the church doors. I was thankful that I wouldn’t have to walk too far in order to get to the basement. The people there are always so kind and friendly. This was our third time there. They give us mostly canned and boxed food, which really helps us tremendously. I let the offspring pick out what she likes, because I mostly got over my pride for her benefit. We have about two weeks per month when pickings around here are slim.

They always have donuts while we wait for our turn to go into the little makeshift store that they have set up. I had a glazed one.

Don’t tell my diabeetus, ok?

I didn’t end up feeling like upchucking while I was there. Yay!

We came home and put everything away. I watched some television with the old man and then went to bed around 10pm.

Around 3 am, I awoke to my stomach gurgling unpleasantly. I made it to the bathroom and it wasn’t nice.

Whilst I was sitting there, I looked up to heaven again.

“If I’m gonna have the shits, at least I am home. Thank you.”

We had eggs and biscuits for dinner last night, which has given me the nasty sulfur burps. I just can’t eat eggs anymore, it happens every time.

In fact, there isn’t all that much that I can eat that doesn’t mess with my volatile tummy.

Welcome to the land of IBS, or irritable bowel syndrome. It comes courtesy of fibro, the stupid bastard.

I am an extremely picky eater. Even offsetting odors can make me feel like throwing up. My husband was cooking up some burgers for our daughter the other night and the smell made me so sick that I had to go outside for some fresh air.

I eat mostly bland foods now. Nothing with too much seasoning or ingredients. There are many days when I have to force myself to even eat something, unless it’s a sweet of some kind. But now, because of the diabeetus, I can’t even have a piece of cake for dinner, bummer.

But that shit (ha) isn’t the point of this post.

The point is, I was truly thankful to be home last night. I had an intense feeling of security, as I sat on my toilet in the dark of night.

At least I am home.

The sticky icky

We potheads have a number of descriptive words that we use to describe marijuana. Here is a list of some of my favorites.

Sticky Icky – Don’t ask.

Dank Bud  – I’ve only had dank bud a few times. Strong stinky stuff, not to be smoked unless you feel like staring off into space and drooling.

Nugs – My personal favorite.

Cannabis – It’s all fancy and shit.

Doobie – Named after the great Scooby Doobie Doo.


Wacky Tobaccy – Different than cigarettes, because it isn’t addictive. (I haven’t toked on the magical smoke in days due to my respiratory issues. I haven’t had the urge to kill anyone, either.)

Hippie Lettuce – I don’t recommend making a salad with it, just smoke the shit, man.

Ganja – I use this one when I want to sound cool and hip.

Reefer – No, it doesn’t make me want to have promiscuous sex.



Spliff – Sounds like something I just got done doing in the bathroom.

Mary Jane – Sounds like the girl next door, doesn’t it?

Make my shit the chronic – I wants to get fucked up.

Blunt – Yeah, I’ve been called that a few times.

Also, a bitch.