what an odd morning...

I woke up feeling quite tired-- it was the second day of sleep dep, last night I was up late due to Poly Speed Dating, the previous night I was up late due to reading cheesy sf about the Napoleanic war if it was fought with dragons. So, I didn't feel good, but I dragged my butt outta bed, got showered, dressed, and out the door in time to make it in for my first meeting.

I discovered I was sick when I threw up on the street in front of my office building. Huh. Still didn't really feel sick, a little stomach oogy but mostly just tired-- but, well, in general I have this rule of thumb that vomiting = stay home from work. Decided to go on up to the office, do any additional vomiting in the bathroom-- I hate puking on the sidewalk, it's embarrassing-- and tell my boss I needed to be off work.

Didn't quite make it to the bathroom before puking again. Embarrassing!

Made an attempt to clean up the rug outside the bathroom door with paper towels, went into the office, sort of awkwardly told my boss I had just thrown up and was going home sick. Went downstairs and asked my pal the building guard to call me a cab and um, he might want to ask somebody to clean up the rug outside the bathroom on the seventh floor.

It's weird how embarrassing it is to be sick. I was highly tempted _not_ to say anything about the need to clean up the rug, to avoid admitting to causing the mess. After my clean-up with the paper towels, and given that I hadn't eaten anything yet today, I think mostly it looked like somebody had spilled tea on the rug. But, not ethical. Health risk. So, I bit the bullet and told my buddy the guard, apologizing repeatedly for making extra work for somebody.

Weird and awkward to tell my boss I had to go home cause I'd thrown up, too. I feel like I don't look sick, and like I sound crazy and weird and like I'm malingering. Bah.

Anyhow. My pal the really nice building guard called me a cab. And the cabbie was a total kook! He went onto this weird crazy paranoid rant about how racist Latino folks are, totally outta the blue, based on me just telling him my address. From there, he segued into a rant about how nasty men are to other men, and how much he hates Klingons. Kook!

It's kinda pointless arguing with a kook, but I also don't feel able to just let racist shit be said in front of me and not say anything. So, I agreed with him about what jerks Klingons are, and then told him a couple stories about the racism my old Puerto Rican boyfriend faced back in DC. Kinda did that thing where I never directly disagreed with him on a theoretical level, but kept telling anecdotes that contradicted him but that he sort of had to agree with. It actually made the conversation sort of fun for me, and I was distracted from wondering if I was about to throw up the whole cab ride home! (I had brought a trash bag with me from the office kitchen, after the earlier incidents when I was unprepared.) And I didn't puke in the cab! So yay for that. And we both agreed that Klingons are kinda pathetic really, and need to develop a sense of humor.

Anyhow. Now I'm home. Ted's staying home sick too. I made some chai to settle my stomach, and am going to try to get my nap on.

xoxo diseased kisses,

Nabil

thinking about marijuana

For some reason, possibly related to spending all day in bed reading sf and farking around on the web, I feel like making a Statement on Marijuana tonight.

Basically, here's my take: Pot should be legal, can be useful when you're sick, and when smoked in excess brings a distinct risk of making you boring.

I don't smoke pot these days. My last year in college, after I was beat up and had my jaw broken and wired shut for a few months, I smoked quite a bit. My pal L would get me stoned, we'd eat soup and play cards and giggle. It was quite helpful. It made it easier to eat, and to deal with the physical and emotion after-effects of being attacked and having my jaw wired for so long. I'm still quite grateful to L.

I stopped because I was getting paranoid, and really stupid-paranoid too-- being worried that other folks could tell I was stoned even when they were the ones who had gotten me stoned! Stupid-paranoia.

Anyhow, I think it did me good, and I don't think it did me harm, and I'm left with strong feelings that pot is a great way to deal with nausea and loss of appetite and probably other physical problems too.

The main risk I see in smoking pot is that if you do it too much, for too many years-- especially while you're a teenager-- you can become boring. Basically, stoned people are too easy to amuse. So if you only socialize with stoned folks, there's a distinct risk that you'll lose the ability to tell a joke, or a compelling story, or make amusing conversation in general. Since amusing conversation is sort of my reason for living, this seems like a pretty serious risk to me.

That said, it's a much less heinous risk then lots of other activities carry, it doesn't happen to everyone who smokes pot, and it's a risk that's carried by other vectors as well-- like not being born in the South, or having boring parents. And, y'know, I absolutely support peoples' right to be boring if they want to be. I might not wanna hang out with boring folks, but I will fight for their right to be dull.

Definitely, it's not nearly enough reason to keep pot illegal.

xoxo

Nabil