March 22, 2019

wherein all wholesome herb-y people receive an apology

Yes, it looks like spinach.
But only a tiny apology.  Much of what is pushed out there by natural, alternative, and/or homeopathic remedy advocates is so much runny puddle water.  And that goes one hundred percent against all of my beliefs and assertions that we're nothing more than big, walking balls of chemicals that can be thus be chemically manipulated.  Did I say I'm above self-contradiction?  I don't remember ever saying that.

Maybe it's the way they get so cult-y about it all.  It's popped up in CBD oil marketing, for instance ... I've had two different people corner me and evangelize CBD oil and I felt like I was being asked to sign up for a multi-level marketing scheme.  I know CBD is actually proving to be legit, and I'm even willing to try it once you don't have to take out a second mortgage to get it, but as soon as someone starts touting something as being "superior to scientists' Western medicine", I get off the bus and turn around and give the bus driver the bird.  Go play your tambourines and drink your Kool-Aid somewhere else, freaky converts.  Like Chapel Hill.  You'd like it there.*

So it was with a jaunty spirit of hoop-jumping that I tried L-theanine a few months ago, which yielded the single side effect of Amazon getting some money from me; and subsequently Sensoril, which is derived from ashawaganda**, an Indian ginseng-y herb thingie.  The Monk gave me printouts for both of these and asked me to try them, and because the little stack of papers was sufficiently thick, I had to take it seriously or else return and say, "I still feel bad and I didn't take any of your suggestions but here I am complaining anyway, like somebody who tries a recipe but changes all of the ingredients and then bitches about it not turning out very good."  At least this way, I could hold my head high next month and announce that his suggestions were rubbish and he needs to go back to Monk School, or wherever it was that he learned psychiatry.

Remember the person who was about to become one of those silhouettes on the wall that they have at shooting ranges, with lots of shuriken sticking out at various angles?  I started the Sensoril on Saturday, and a few days later, when I encountered the person, everything annoying was dialed back to an acceptable level of tolerability.  Maybe even a little bit better than that.  It's like I can know the person is doing something unforgivably, fingernails-on-chalkboard nerve-wracking, but only on an intellectual level, without feeling cortisol release into my bloodstream, without that metallic taste that comes from all the stress hormones.

It is, for me, truly an I Don't Give A Shit Pill.  I'd call it "ID-GAS" but that sounds like "anti-gas" and if I were overheard talking about it to someone, that would be embarrassing.

Seriously, how miraculous is it that I've discovered an I Don't Give A Shit pill?  It's like a goose-excreted solid gold egg landed on my foot.

And it's an herb.  It's a god-damned over-the-counter, Amazon-delivered*** ginseng extract.

Do I have to carry a tambourine now?  I've got one.  It came in the Melissa & Doug set that The Kid got when he was two years old from some benighted, well-meaning neighbor who thought he needed cymbals.  It's kind of small and somehow has survived thirteen years without having a hole punched through it by my fist.

*I like Chapel Hill, too.

**Dear Google:  "Washstand" for "ashawaganda" wasn't too bad.  I'll give you credit for that one.  You're making progress!  Gold star sticker.

***I am aware Amazon does not actually have a counter.

1 comment:

  1. Three cheers for IDGASP or whatever TF you're eating! Oh I hope it helps always. My brother-in-law gets angry and yelly with anxiety but he's been so peaceful lately thanks to that stuff.
    Washstand tho. LOL