A new aquaintence of mine recently made a comment that brought to mind one of those subjects that rattle around in my brain and never really leaves. She wondered what all the fuss about using vicadin to relieve mental pain was about. She's ok with the plan. Pain killer+ mental pain. Seems like a simple equasion. I can't argue the logic.
Now I am not a big pill popper. Not that I wouldn't be, it's just that my personal pharmacy isn't well stocked. I do keep my big wigs around for emergencies, long past the expiration date listed on the label. Some people have flashlights and extra batteries. I can't find my flashlights when I need them and the batteries are always the wrong size. But, But, I say, I have Darvocet and it's generic equivalent for when I over do on the dusting or laundry or something. I have 1/2 of a bottle of zoloft that a friend donated to me when she heard about the amazing transformation that starts about three days before my period. I have the medication that the doctor actually prescribed for that condition as well. Not that I don't have limits. When I forget what they were prescribed for and what effect they have- I flush them. (This always brings back the sad memory of the personal home health aide flushing away my dad's really impressive artillery after his passing. I had the urge to reach in after them, I admit.)
But, I digress, because what I really wanted to share was the story I read about a man's conspiracy theory. If you know anything about conspiracy theories you know they are all true. All of them, absolutely. The more unbelievable they are the more you know you can trust them.
This particular gentleman's theory was a gem. He was from farming country. Crop dusting was a fairly common way to control pests. Now at this point you may think this is a story about a man who believes pesticides are the root cause of all medical malady. No, this is of much more serious consequence. Mr. Gentleman believes the government was paying these crop dusters to fly over our food sources and spray them with a form of anti- depressant. I guess so we would stop complaining about taxes and such. Now I don't know anything more. I stopped recording any more information. I don't know what he thought the end result would be. I don't know if he had a plan to stop this evil plot. Nope, all done.
In my ears I can only hear the gentle buzzing of bee's and birds, or my blood pressure. In my mind's eye I see pretty twin engine planes (and they are always yellow) twirling in circles in the sky. There I am standing in my yard with my arms raised to the sky. RAIN DOWN, RAIN DOWN ON ME, I say. If only, if only we could be so lucky!
That little tid-bit has been with me, rolling around in the corners of my brain like one of those small rubber balls my kids bring home from birthday parties that bounce twenty feet in the air before disappearing forever. That little tid bit probably replaced some important piece of information like how to ammortize my car loan. Or, where I put my child's finger prints and birth certificate. I am good with it, though, that small little story I tell myself makes me smile. A sad little- if only -smile.