Hiking on Mt. Wittenberg, mom in front, August 2008, sky trail. Before we get to that story I change Fiona’s poopy diaper. The smell coming from the diaper pail reminds me of another story, the Greyhound bus ride from Burns, Wyoming to San Diego, California. Lynnette and I are sitting at the Greyhound Bus station. My knees are showing, I’m wearing a mini skirt and tennis shoes. A man next to me says, “Nice legs.” I’m 17, Lynnette’s 18.  We spent our time in Wyoming trying new drugs. The day I arrived Lynnette and her boyfriend picked me up from The Greyhound bus stop in her maroon Volkswagen bug, her boyfriend pulled out a zip lock bag and said “Magic Mushrooms.”  They tasted disgusting, (The next several times we ate them we bought tacos from Taco Johns and put the mushrooms in the taco.)   I worked at Uncle Don’s potato chip factory, Lynnette worked at the truck stop, both working the graveyard shift. The morning was party time, first we’d take trucker speed or NoDoz. Then go to someone’s house and have a beer. On our days off we’d do Psychedelics. We’d drive down dirt roads and park by giant rocks, sprawling fields, stars at night.  Our eyes dilated, cheeks sore from laughing. We had some cash saved up from our jobs. A hippy guy approached us outside the Bus station, “Do you guys wanna buy some acid? I need some money to buy a bus ticket.”  “Yes.” We say. He hands us a sheet of acid with little rainbows printed on it. Its way more than we expected to get for the $60 bucks he took from us. Everyone stands in a line to get on board. “Goodbye Cheyenne, Goodbye Wyoming.” We take seats in the back of the bus, as usual. This is a mistake. The T.V. just comes on, XFinity is fixing our internet. “Mam can you turn on the T.V. in the living room?” He asks. “Yeah” I say. The babies are taking their nap, Alan is in the office. Sunday morning. The dizzy spells gone. Friends have shown concern over me stopping Zoloft cold turkey. I know, it’s unorthodox. I read one guys list of possible side effects when stopping anti-depressants. One was “Everything will annoy you.” I’ve found myself wondering sometimes how long crumbs would stay on the floor, trash would fall out of the trashcan, how high the dishes would pile up, how many diapers would sit on top of the diaper pails, I’m laughing as I write this. But these things do annoy me. But it got me thinking, about sexism again. It made me think about how many housewives take anti-depressants. Or are in pain or have chronic fatigue syndrome. Lynnette and I each take a whole hit, it’s a 1554 mile trip to San Diego. By sundown the acid starts to kick in. Another kid on the bus notices we’re high and we give him a hit too. We’re going through a mountain pass, down a steep hill, I can feel the bus shaking, see bright lights, I think I hear loose dirt under the tires, I think we’re skidding. We make friends with a cowboy. I’m sitting next to him, Lynnette across from me. He puts some chew in his mouth. I ask him, “What’s that.” Lynnette starts cracking up, I say, “Let me try some.” I put a brown sticky clump in my mouth, I turn green, going to puke. (#1. Reason not to sit at the back of the greyhound bus) I run to the toilet. The smell is horrific. The smell gets permanently trapped in my nostrils, forever.  I’m not gonna puke. I get over it, I go back to my seat. BUZZZZZ, I fall back onto the isle out of fright and shock. Lynnette convinced the cowboy to zap me with his cattle prodder. Things are getting crazy back here. Thank god, we pull over, everyone gets off the bus to stretch their legs, been driving all night. We’re high   as kites, people think we’ve been drinking, the bus driver contemplates leaving us behind but he lets us back on the bus. Next stop Las Vegas. The acid is starting to wear off, the little bit left makes the lights and cigarette smoke of Las Vegas seem unbearable. We wait on the bus, but the kid we gave the hit to is nowhere to be found. He’s probably peaking now, Lynette and I go look for him, bus driver asks us “where is he? We’re leaving soon.” We can’t find him and feel bad. We peer through the windows as we drive off to see if he starts running to catch the bus. We always wondered what ever happened to the poor kid. We get off in San Diego, exhausted, my “Friends” pick us up, say we can stay at their house. The babies will be up soon and Alan will be wanting to hang out as a family so I need to put the rest of that story on the shelf for now. There’s some really juicy parts to tell. Also the conversation I had with my mom on the sky trail will be coming soon. So many things to write about, so little time. So little time.