Running Her Mouth: My Mom is My Dealer

Blog Mission, In Simple Terms

"I'm a road-runner, baby." Jr. Walker

I'm a road-runner running and writing a blog consisting of run~on sentences about running while sharing a deep concentration with the music in my ears, so that one day my boys, Elijah and Levi, will be able to read up and keep it real; Run~ons just may be the most effective way to convey my health seeking mission to people who don't know me or do, but then I pretty much like the idea that language/structure can be as playful as the subject itself, plus the reader may decide that running~on in a run~on sentence kind~of~way, might be beneficial to him or her that is right now, as of this moment here, basically undiscovered or unawakened.

The blog used to be heavily augmented by my facebook page which featured SOTD (song of the day), however I don't have the time to do that anymore; the blog has also taken on a very flexible schedule of it's own where I closely examine pretty much anything I want, in my own special way, something that piqued my interest during the previous month; if it piques yours, well, that would be pretty cool, too.
_______________________________________

Thursday, October 1, 2009

My Mom is My Dealer

I'm just going nuts inside; I feel sorry for those of you who know it personally, maybe next time you won't ask? I wouldn't like that, but I'm hoping there won't be a next time. There is nothing like being told you can't do something, or worse, knowing that if you do something that you want you could do more damage than if you left well enough alone.

This applies to many things in life, not just, I dunno, knee injuries and your favorite frickin' thing to do with yourself.

I went and saw mom yesterday. She got a new refrigerator because the one she had leaked at random times. I think leaky fridge's happen in 3's, like death and rude interactions between strangers.

Anyway, I asked to bum some ibuprophen off her and she generously dumped half the bottle in a zip lock bag. I was stunned! I mean, obviously it reminded me of yesteryear and a certain laughable lettuce (quoting a certain Gailey).

But, seriously, it didn't take long before I realized that even mom knows the best way to move drugs from one place to another.

Enough with small wooden boxes and recycled Wispride cold cheese pack processed port cheese product containers (which are actually quite useful for organizing screens and papers and seeds and other potent potables, I mean, or so I've heard.)! It's the zip lock bag.

Thanks mom, for everything, for real. And thank you for the bag of motrin. I've never felt so weird doing something so legal in my life.