Keeping Fit

Every time you bend over to pick up a cigarette snipe, you are, in effect doing a calisthenic, equivalent to the canonical bending over and touching the toes.

I would argue that doing 20 or so of them each morning, say, would help keep a person more flexible and having slightly better blood flow, to the brain, perhaps.

Today was a day when I felt like if I had gotten hit by a car and banged my head on something, it wouldn't faze me much, and the shock would probably shake up my brain and dislodge a small tumor enough so that my, blood, oxygenated through practicing the Wim Hof breathing exercises, could transport the right cancer fighting agents to the site and dissolve the thing...

Maybe there were nano bots put in me, through the Covid 19 vaccine that in control of my immune system now and are doing a stellar job. That would be one magnificent benefit of the jabs, but one that poor Fauci wouldn't be able to advertise, due to potential public outcry over having tiny little robots injected into the bloodstream. Maybe it's for our own good that the nano bot component was kept under wraps and, in a few years, Fauci is going to go on everybody's phones (pausing automatically what they might have been doing) and make a speech, drawing people's attention to the fact that there had been no disease at all, since 2020; then produce statistics, maybe have doctors speak; and then lastly Biden will read to every U.S. citizen who has their phone on: "By now it has become undeniable that cancer and Alzheimer's and Parkinson's and sickle cell anemia; and a host of other diseases; all diseases known to mankind, have been eradicated in almost 80% of the world's population!"

He would then go on to explain that, during such an emergency as the pandemic, he had to make a gutsy decision upon whether or not to divulge the presence of the nano bots to the public (and perhaps spook them away from getting the, profitable to the big drug companies but life-saving shot.

"What they don't know can't hurt them," I said...

Oh, wait...I never got the shots...

I was out sniping and wound up running into a Jamaican looking guy of probably about 19, who had dred locks and a blunt of weed going when he pulled up near where I had just picked up a snipe off the sidewalk.

He extended the blunt towards me. I wondered if he was giving me the rest of it (then going into the store we were at; perhaps not wanting it in his pocket smelling the whole store up like a blunt). In that case, I would have just feigned taking a hit, while he walked away, then put it out and saved it as a tuning up bud at the Lilly Pad, perhaps.

But, he was just offering one hit -it was kind of big and only about half smoked, after all.

He said that he could see (from me having picked up the snipe) that I was kind of struggling -I forget the exact phrase he used.

I then kind of defended myself by telling him that I took all the snipes home, unrolled them into a pile of tobacco on the coffee table, then rolled them back up "So I don't have to put my mouth on them..."

He lit up (excuse the pun) somewhat, and said that he used to do the same thing. I kind of felt a rapport with him in that moment; and started to daydream a bit, as the hit of the kind bud coursed through my veins and started finding the capillaries in my brain; about when I'm sitting on my couch at home and thinking about the same issues and how the only difference was that I was in front of the Goodwill Store and not on my couch; and there was a young Jamaican guy, who could probably whip me in a fight but not kill me; whom I had established a rapport with.

Then, I guess I further defended myself by adding that I planned it (my nicotine addiction) to be a transitory thing. "I just don't see me being an 80 year old guy, smoking a cigarette." I was using some of that New Age type of visualization whereby you envision a future then align yourself with it and bring it to pass.

The Jamaican kid, who had a lot of stuff like jewelry and things ties around him and hanging from his belt then said something was "like crack." It might have been the sugary cereal that I mentioned, when telling him that I hadn't gotten drunk or smoked crack for something like 2 weeks, and added, but I started eating the f*** out of sugary cereal.

"I think addicts have to have something to be addicted to, and if they stop one thing, they just pick up something else..." I said, putting those 9 credit hours of Psychology that I absorbed at Fitchburg State College, back in 1980, to use.

He then told me about a close relative to his who had been turned on by his uncle to crack at the age of 7. He said the guy finally managed to kick the addiction when he was in his 20's (By the way, I shudder to think of the uncle's motives for getting a 7 year old boy high, but that's perhaps for another blog post) but then, after only having quit for a few months, had some kind of mental braekdown, and started smoking it again.

I then told him about how my father had smoked a pack a day, but had quit after the birth of my younger brother, using that as a motivation to want to live longer, type of thing; but then had started back up again after the same brother was rushed to the hospital with about a 50% chance of surviving the spinal meningitis that he came down with, out of the blue*, and I think the doctors added; a 40% chance of surviving and being "perfectly normal." I think they had stopped short of making that "Not mentally retarded," as that was the primary danger of allowing the virus to go from the spine to the brain, type of thing (they were warned that the kid might have intense nightmares while still in a fevered state, while the antibiotics that they injected in his spine were at work.

But, it was sitting there in the waiting room, wondering if his son was going to live or die, that he wound up smoking a cigarette; then another.

The Jamaican kids said something about how "That's when it (addiction) gets you; when things are getting real (serious)." 

He had dropped his shoulders and his head and seemed to actually be dejected, or maybe dismayed, but then instantly brightened up from night to day when I added: "He quit again right after they said the kid came through and would be perfectly normal..."

So, that was my conversation with a young Jamaican man on a bike in front of the Goodwill Store.

Oh, I also had somewhere squeezed in the back story that, when my parents were leaving for the hospital with my dazed looking little brother over my dad's shoulder, my mom had asked me to water some raspberry plants that she had recently planted by our back fence; and then had begun to cry a bit.

"I was thinking that she was about to say something like: '...so they don't die," and had started crying because of that.

The Jamaican kid offered that she hadn't wanted "everything around her" to die; as if my little brother's death would have been bad enough; but the raspberry bushes, too, would be too much.

OK, so that was my conversation with the young guy on a bike who gave me a hit off his blunt...

I then rode home, wondering if besides asteroids and other objects with mass that might impact the earth, which scientists are keeping a look out for, there are other things out there, like huge thought clouds that can actually blow through the earth; invisible to all of the measuring instruments we have developed so far, but real. Like little balls of energy that, if they hit you; you will have them; as far as people have thoughts...