In the War on Myself: I’m Winning!

There just isn’t enough research on the effects of cannabis, marijauna, and cannibaniods. Even though I’ve been a lifelong pot-smoker since I turned 17, I have so many unanswered questions about its ability to be such a panacea. But due to the political and medical classification of the drug in our country, Schedule 1 class I – (in the same category as morphine and heroine,) there is little funding to fuel the curiosity about using the plant for its god-given talents and strengths. Research helps to prove efficacy for certain conditions, obviously – some conditions I may or may not have. Critical thinking skills have always been crucial for the pot-smoker, you’ve got to pay attention to how this or that flower is affecting you.

For me, 41.0 – general anxiety disorder is a diagnoses in the DSM – which my shrink often codes my invoices with, and it reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine ridicules her co-worker for calling in sick due to a feeling of intense malaise. Elaine contends that we all have that, claims that her co-worker has no good excuse and should come to the office like the rest of us miserable fucks.

Peterman: “Bad news, people. Peggy is home sick.”
Elaine: “Oh, please.”
Peterman: “She’s stuffed up, achy, and suffering from intense malaise.”
Elaine: “Oh, come on, we all have intense malaise. Right?”
Peterman: “I just spoke with her, Elaine. She’s in bed.”
Elaine: “Yeah, let me tell you something: this is all in her mind, OK? She is
insane.

Nevermind that Elaine has germs because she is sexually promiscuous (in Peggy’s mind,) which causes Elaine to do some pretty weird things to Peggy’s keyboard.

My point is this: if my symptoms are the same as your symptoms – but we each treat and self-prescribe differently – Peggy stays home in bed, Elaine powers through pulling salt kernals from Peterman’s pretzels and makes jokes in her waking life, I smoke weed.