Roseburg, OR (9:30 AM) to Mill Valley, CA (7:00 PM). 462 miles
Notables: Fink’s Time and Distance.
I felt the depression move in like a thunderstorm this morning. It took forever to sort through my clean clothes, get everything repacked and rearranged. My body ached and the barometric pressure of my brain thickened like glue.
The night before, Doris and I talked a long time about chronic pain, fibromyalgia, and cannabis. In Oregon, she’s able to grow and process pot for her own use, which is a complicated affair. She makes “pot-butter,” an ingredient in therapeutic cookies. And just like any drug, it took trial and error to determine the right dosage.
I thought about my friend, Duane, who suffers constant, chronic pain as a side effect of his AIDS medications. He and his husband, Jim, supported the law to make medical marijuana legal in Minnesota. It’s legal there now, but the process of qualifying, registering, and then paying $300-$500 per month makes it unobtainable. I thought about Jim cooking up some “pot-butter” in their kitchen and how delicious his cookies would be.
I’ve never thought about trying marijuana for my own pain. There have been nights on this trip when I could hardly hobble across a room. I wasn’t thinking about pot before, but I’m thinking about it now.
As I hauled all my crap out to the car this morning, I asked Doris if I could buy some cookies from her. I didn’t know it was illegal for her to sell it. When Doris told me that, I felt like so un-street. And weirdly like an undercover cop.
Then, she went through instructions like my pharmacist. Only eat half of the cookie. Don’t eat cookies while driving. It could take two hours for the cookie to take effect. Plus a list of possible outcomes. And another list of cautions.
So, I had my half-cookie about two hours ago. Feels like I might sleep better tonight.
Oh, yeah. I also saw Mount Shasta today.