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It hasn't been a wonderful day. Mostly because it has been hot. Just over 90° (32.22° C) for most of the afternoon. I tried to take a nap, but even with the air conditioner running for the first time this Spring it was difficult. I ate half a container of some really tasty ice cream hoping that would cool me off, but instead it made me feel bloated, and I ended up regretting it.
This afternoon I watched a program about what is presently a legal drug that's called "bath powder". The program was very sensationalized, but it still seemed to have some validity. People are making it in crude home laboratories. The users get crazy, and an inordinate number of them end up killing themselves. The symptoms seem familiar with a drug call PCP that was making the rounds in the late Sixties and Seventies.
One of the interesting aspects of this drug is that it doesn't take a genius to put this drug together, and if the government finally gets around to banning it, it is easy enough to change one small element of it so that the variation evades the law, and the money-hungry savages start selling it again, and more people die in horror and torment. Insanity does strange things to people. Making these types of drugs is tantamount to murder, and because they are insane it doesn't even matter to them one whit that they're making people miserable.
Current with writing this entry I'm watching Murder On The Orient Express with Poirot on PBS. The train broke down in this horribly cold European environment. Snow all over the place with very sad music. This is why I never go north in the Winter. Having to survive in a place like that seems similar to murder. Like being sent to the Russian gulags in Siberia as a political prisoner.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleksandr_Solzhenitsyn
I wish I had never read Solzhenitsyn. He made me realize what a coward I am or would be if I had to suffer in the way he described. The Eskimos are right. Hell is not hot. Hell is cold.
How odd that I would start out writing about how hot it's been today, and end up writing about how hell is cold. I guess that's what happens when I'm not feeling so well, and have to force myself to write something merely for the sake of appearances.
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