Time for "Wolf Hall" author Hilary Mantle's book on King Henry VIII, and his six (VI) wives, as seen through the eyes of Henry's friend and advisor Thomas Cromwell. The characters just seem to stand around and shiver, or die because they can no longer stand shivering. Cromwell just walks into rooms and looks at everyone there, and then goes another room and looks around and then he'll be mumbling "Save this queen at least!" A British documentary had the author become a small bit player but enough to see. Three nights, six wives, Boom! over, instead of six episodes, and two queens. It's a thought. I have them. Thoughts.
I have been approved for medical marijuana by the State and a doctor in Angola, NY. I was never sure if Angola was a small southern African Nation with a penchant for civil wars or a small, dying population also in need of food or the Rust Bucket remainder stretch of broken dreams near Buffalo. This led to the usual paper chase for a 60 year old trying to do paperwork and follow up, take a short turn down a street and just a million screams of the Hellroad will the be subject to your object! Finally, an answer arrived and it was, through the magical of the inter web, an ID Card, and knowledge that I now have to learn - what my assigned case number is with the FDA (FS3473838)
Here's a picture of one the cannabis pills, just mere seconds before being consumed by me.
I took the first one around 10:00 this morning, and like I said, at 6:25 pm 5/12/12. Still staying smooth, with minor bump or two, dizzy spells, and just keeping a watch over moods. All part of the standard MS world. The shoppe for Pot is located on a back street in Albany, not in what you'd call a nice great area, or maybe it was when Roosevelt was in the governor's chair (Frank or Ted).
The pills may help, they may not. But I have nothing sure but a certain stretch of moments that will go from now as you read this to when the moments permanently st-. So it allows me to toe test the 1960 or '70s other tradition while I more grooved (oh, please) with the music. But back then I could only smell what came from a dried dusty weak, dare I say weed? stick could produce maybe. Never tried it in any form to see if it worked, or if you had any reason you really needed thought you needed it. But I was never in the cool students groups and agreed to be a tripping victim on Thursday morning in front of science class so I could maybe not be harassed that or any day?
The info on Cervical Cancer is about (for me)t an old friend, but old is the wrong word, she was/ is one part of my life that had college, first job, and the fun times in between tragedies. We parted nearly 35 years ago, but I could keep an electronic eye on her through my job, though more from a database, nothing personal but that just to see if she was still around. This friend, who with me tagging along, went to concerts of rock stars across New England, Jersey and into Pennsylvania, is now stuck in a wheelchair as she fights a bizarre version of, oddly, (or maybe not) MS. Now, neither of us move well, or are not that good thinking. She was always right, and I agreed. And I helped her laugh, she said. Yeah, I could make her laugh. Wish I could now.
I'm just that guy from that PBS series Wolf Hall, Thomas (Martin) Cromwell. I just go to rooms and listen, maybe say something to someone, but mostly just be in rooms, listening, and waiting for something. I'll think of what that was at some point. Probably. Well, maybe.
