Martha McCallum interviews Rush Limbaugh

I don't see Fox News, and I don't listen to radio. These are two people I never hear until they're brought to my attention. I don't see anything new here that hasn't already been discussed ad nauseam and nothing particularly interesting. Yet this interview gets attention elsewhere. Maybe it's good to have things rehashed. Good for someone who's not me. They put on Hillary whom everyone can easily live without at this point. She says something outrageously contrary to reality, but so what. It offends me having her brought to my attention. It's annoyance and that's all it is. These people are annoying me purposefully. They put on Jared Kushner but he's not particularly interesting either. 

Here. This is for you to be annoyed too. 

Something wildly unrelated

The nurses at my new doctor were alarmed by my blood pressure so they took it again. Called in another nurse and took it a third time. Told the doctor and he took it himself, a fourth time. 

180/119 whatever that means. 

He told me this puts me in the place where people have a stoke and heart attack.

I said, "Bummer." 

"How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Headaches?"

"No." 

Nothing feels different. 

He said, "Look, I gotta get you on medication immediately." 

But I thought it was all temporary. 

It was always measured extremely low. I could pass out just by standing up too quickly. Something happened that caused it to zoom, but it must be temporary. It will return to normal.

I hate the idea of taking medicine. Ew, I just can't stand it.

He told me to check at that grocery store.

The first grocery store was too soon after that.

The second grocery store didn't have one of those machines.

The third grocery store the machine was out of order

Now a few weeks elapsed. The fourth grocery store, the machine recorded 180/119 and told me to get emergency medical attention immediately. And the machine has been bugging me ever since. (You have to answer a bunch of shit to get started.)

I told this to the doctor. 

He flipped out and wanted me to get a prescription locally that night. (Two Fridays ago)

I convinced him to go through the pharmacy that has a contract with FRB where I used to work. That way I could get a 90 day supply. 

I convinced him they're very good and will have the blood pressure meds here in 2 days.

He said, "Okay."

That pharmacy screwed up royally. They said it would take a week. That week passed and I checked. They said, in a few more days. The shipment is expedited.

It's been nearly two weeks. The notifications are conflicting. One said it's scheduled to be here on Monday another said it will be here on Thursday. (Tomorrow)

The point is, I'm living on the edge of the sword one step away from stroking out. Or exploding by massive heart attack. Apparently. I feel the exact same as before. But the entire dr. office freaked out, and now even a machine freaked out. And it isn't temporary. 

Just waiting for the blood pressure medicine is enough to raise my blood pressure. 

I don't need any shit like Fox News or Rush Limbaugh or especially Hillary Goddamn Rodham Clinton giving the reverse of reality to annoy me or jack with my blood pressure. In my world of reality she is already dropped dead and rotting.  I don't need to get excited about any of these people.

Every little thing that I do like drag a bag of stone powder across the room or drag a heavy bag of chitin material across the room, or take apart large cardboard boxes to toss into the dumpster forces me to evaluate what effect the exertion might have on blood pressure.

[Conversely, the real world that I live in of mixed races, mixed generations, and mixed sexual preferences, mixed economic satisfaction, is all very sweet and excellent, and this is shown every moment of interaction. I have only to step outside my apartment and proof of social excellence shows within two minutes. I walked through the back door pushing a cart filled with flattened cardboard boxes and other assorted paper trash. 

In the shadows a black man approached, a dark human in the darkness, a situation that would cause Obama's grandmother to cross the street. I said, "Hi" to the approaching shadow, feeling no menace, the next moment a box dropped from the cart. The shadow stepped closer faster, "I'll get that for you." I was already bending down to pick it up. "I knew something would fall out." He was going through the locked door that I just came through. He lives in my apartment. A young black dude sees an old white dude and steps it up to assist him. That is the life I experience. And it is so remote from anything that Fox News, Rush Limbaugh, Hillary Clinton, or Jared Kushner can bring into my experience.]

I can feel my heartbeat in my neck.

Eh, I always could do that.

But now it has extra meaning.

I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips.

Eh, I could always do that.

I know, right? But now it really means something. 

"Honeykins, maybe you best not climax." 

"SHUT UP! You're not funny." 

The weird thing is, these future pills are only 5 mg. I think. Such low dosage. And apparently they work immediately. 

Doctor said take one each night. Then check again. If nothing changes then take two. 

I just now looked it up. 

Says, taking alcohol can further lower blood pressure. 

Why didn't they say that before. GAWL! I could have started already by other means.

*pours a glass of Bailey's Irish Cream* 

Oh man. I haven't had any of this in a decade. It just sits there for ten years. 

Every time I drink this Bailey's Irish Cream I am forced to think of my last dog. 

She was such a good girl.

So well behaved. 

One day a young woman from work was visiting. 

We were having an enjoyable conversation. 

The woman was sitting on the sofa and I was sitting on the floor in front of her. 

My dog is a bit jealous of the woman having my attention.

We were having a great time.

I recall the woman saying, "Chip, you're cracking me up. You really get into your stories. Acting them out."

That was ASL slipping into English, I suppose. I do act out my stories. But I don't think that's particularly funny. It's just a bit of pantomime. A bit of acting. That's all. Apparently it's hilarious. 

Anyway we were having a great time together.

Sipping Irish Bailey's Cream in tiny aperitif glasses.

And my dog would NOT leave them alone. 

The dog kept trying to sniff the Bailey's Irish Cream. 

She was making a complete nuisance of herself.

She was totally intrigued with the odor. 

So strongly, it made her come way out of character. 

She was actually being a bad little dog. 

So I thought, you little angel, if it means that much to you then I'll get you some.

I poured a few teaspoons into her dog dish and diluted it with milk. 

I know, I know, milk is bad for dogs, but my dogs liked it.

She was very happy to try it but could not get her nose past the bouquet that it formed above the bowl. 

She kept approaching with intense interest then suddenly jerked her head back when the fumes went up her nose. 

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a million times. She could NOT penetrate the fumes. 

Finally she made it past the fumes, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, lap, gone.

The effect was immediate. 

 Picture it.

The furry black dog is using the wall to hold herself steady, to help her stand up. It took a moment to realize this was happening.

She wants to walk across the room to rejoin us.

With one side pressed against the wall like a fallen down drunk, she waddles clumsily toward us, taking more than four legs to stand up, she makes it halfway across the room then drops to the floor in heap against the wall.  Satisfied that she's close enough. 

I had only given her less than a thimbleful. I did not purposefully make my dog drunk, but she could not handle any amount of alcohol. But good Lord she loved her Irish Bailey's Cream.

It was like a mystical magical difficult delicious drink. 

I picked her up and put her onto my lap and we continued our conversation, my poor dog drunk and half asleep with her head on my lap and not bothering us anymore by sticking her nose in our itty bitty glasses of Irish Bailey's Cream. She had her fill.

Now I'm having some. To bring down my blood pressure.