So, Vocal Culture emailed me to say that I had five drafts, but I like to think ahead of myself and have stories formulate in my mind ahead of time, and I start with a title and the picture. And, basically I wing it from there. That's the "special" brain I have.
Today's story deals with the conclusion that I'm happiest living out at the ass-end of nowhere. Debbie, my lovely wife is from "Da Bronx," and I am originally from upstate New York, around the Syracuse area, out in farm country.
My first job at eight years old was hand-milking cows for a year before they bought automatic milkers. It was a family friend, and I basically worked for room and board through the summer months. Haying season.
And I first toked up with one of the farmer's sons out behind the pole-barn. Now, my wife, Deb, is a city-girl through and through, but visited Arizona a few years before she decided to take the job of microinjectionist at the Univ. Of Arizona. She breeds mice and implants them with genes that causes the mice to be missing specific genes and such to create transgenics, or what you'd call creating special test-mice for other labs. Things like insulin; we wouldn't have it without some animal research.
And she's having issues lately with her hiatal hernia acting up bad, and it's like the blind leading the blind here, as I'm doing all the chores so she can rest. She hates that it really wears me down, but I'm used to the pain and I recover pretty well. But she wanted to get away from it all, and this was the second house we looked at on the first day, and fell in love with the property. 4.3 acres of desert scrub, creosote bushes, and about 80% of the property is bordered by the thorny version of Mesquite trees. And they put out a ground cover of little, low-lying mini-bushes of the same thorny Mesquites, so I'm really careful when I go out barefoot. Not that I really mind the thorns—martial arts feet still—but I can pick up an infection and not even know it until it's set in.
So, what's this all have to do with cannabis? Well, the first home Debbie rented, I was her agent, working for my screamer of a sister, and it was literally love at first sight! Actually, she called from NY and we'd talk for hours, so we really fell in love over the phone, 2,000 miles apart. She came out with a friend to do the paperwork after picking a rental in one of those huge tract houses where, if ya didn't shut the blinds, everyone saw everything, and on the flight home, her friend told her that I was smitten with her, and she agreed and said so too!
So, after the house-owners decided to sell, and released Deb from her lease, and I had just quit working for my sister (we think we were meant to meet, and my sister's business did the work), I went to a home sales office instead of rentals, which is all my sister did, and my second house I sold was this one! So, I got tired of the city too, and this property was just like our love: meant to be. "Still not talking about cannabis, Rick!" I know, I know!
Cannabis really enters the scene five years ago, though I started at eight, and smoked regularly for ten years before the Army. By the way, we're on our ninth year in this home, and it's really been the longest I've ever lived anywhere!
Even in upstate NY, Dad was a paycheck boozer, and we'd move every five years or so, but we're finishing our ninth year here, ten in December, and married almost as long. We were married in our front yard after living together for 18 months. She's my fourth wife, but I'm her one and only, and we've been together longer than all three previous marriages put together!
Then I became disabled. Not that simple, but my body started to deteriorate by the day almost, starting in autumn of '08, and I was living as a constant 9 out of 10 pain, and searching for the right doctor who actually believed in my pain.
Enter Dr Rick. First off, in around eighteen months of working, and needing three days off after one eight-hour day, I went through five doctors. All they'd give me was Tramadol and Ibuprofen, and I told them I wouldn't pay prescription prices for off-the-shelf meds, and this one doc laid into me that scripted Ibuprofen was stronger and my smart-ass mouth popped out that that's a lie and proceeded to lecture him with my medical training (and pharmacology too).
Needless to say, he passed me over to a younger doc, Dr Rick. And I think he was meant to be my regular doctor, because he's definitely empathic, and saw my pain, and believed when I said I was in 9- or 10-out-of-10 pain. He's like, "How come you're driving?" and I'm like, "I don't have a choice," at that time. Now, due to my morphine and other meds along with pot, I've had to turn in my license, and that's been the shit. "But, cannabis, Rick!"
Okay, okay! I started with scripted MMJ near the end of October 2013, with the morphine at the same time, and my doc was amazed at the response from my body. AND, he believes in me, and my medical experience with meds and such, and he really listens. So, cannabis in the middle of nowhere.
Dr's worried about the morphine, but my liver enzymes always come back clear....totally clear! He's amazed, and I've told him over and over again that cannabis is responsible for it, and I thank him for the morphine and cannabis profusely, every visit. And he's seen the change. My bod is still degenerating, but MMJ has been a great help, and I guess the point of the story is that I don't have but a few close neighbors within 150 yards away, and we almost never see anyone but the mail lady, and UPS and FedEx drivers. So I'm free to dance naked on the front deck if I want! We've got bees, though, and I don't need a bee sting on my schwantz! ROFLMFAO
So, seclusion helps me to cope with the pains, and staying clear of the general public, where I can medicate freely, without any hassles from the neighbors. On the side, I've shot and killed at least one diamondback rattler every year, until just recently. We had a large crate on the deck, nearby the rat traps, and this rattler came up on the deck, and was in hunting mode...and I didn't want to shoot a hole in the deck, so we called this guy who did snake removal as a side job, and the first night we couldn't find the snake, and he charged $50 for the trip; but, the next night, before sunset, I peeked under the crate, and there he was again! So we called the dude back, and he caught it. But, didn't charge us for the return trip! Nice guy, and we'll use him in the future, unless I can get a clean shot that won't go anywhere but in the ground.
So, I'm talking about that because we're secluded away, and the nearest neighbor is 150 yards away, and the only one who shows up after I shoot a rattler is our nice neighbor who has helped pull us out of the mud after the monsoon rains a few times. And I cut off the rattle for him.
Now, back a few years, I made wire and bead jewelry before my arthritis, and I made seven necklaces with the rattles attached, and sold 'em for $30 each. So, anyways, nobody comes down our road but the nearest who are friends. We've had one group of Mormons; ya know the guys/gals in black slacks and shoes, and always dragging along a youngster in white shirt and tie, plus handfuls of "The Watchtower. Well, I have a special way to deal with them...I answer the door, semi-naked and carrying my gun, and I tell them, "You're just in time for the ritual sacrifice, thanks for bringing the kid for it!"
Needless to say, they run away. Besides, they had to drive past the "No Trespassing, No Solicitors" sign, which I pointed out, with my gun as a gesture, and I have never seen another! It works! Once, living at my parents' house after my second divorce, my Mom says, 'Oh crap...Mormons!" "No prob, mom, I got this..." I answered the door totally naked, again with the ritual sacrifice. LOL. Makes me laugh in retrospect, but it keeps them away like citronella on bugs!
Cannabis, now...it's been a life-preserver in the ocean of chronic pain I'm always in. And just lately, Debbie's hiatal hernia has been acting like bad, to the point where she left work early, and said she took the Frontage road, the road next to the interstate, and she had to keep pulling over until the feeling of fainting passed. Now, it's like the blind leading the blind here! I'm having to wait on her, and I've had to bitch her out for overdoing it, just the opposite until now...Hopefully, she won't need surgery, but there's a few of her friends who'll pick me up to go visit her in the hospital after the possible surgery, and help me run errands to town.
As for surgery? I think she's going to have to have it. She's just been in the 8 to 10 range pain-wise, which I'm used to. She's not, and the only painkillers that she's not allergic to is Nucynta. But I've convinced her to take a quarter of one of my 10mg Valiums at night, and she's resting better. Me? I'm just going through the motions and hiding most of my pain from her. Wish I could convince her to ask our doctor for MMJ too.
But, as for living in the wild areas outside of Tucson, in the Marana area? It's great for the privacy I really need to get through the day-to-day pains. I wish I'd find someone local who's a legal smoker, so I can have a smoke party with someone besides myself.
So, that's it for this story. Seclusion and privacy, and I don't have to put up with assholes.
Abstract: when I was going to court for passing out at the wheel, Deb and I were walking across to the car parking lot in those large crossing points with lots of white lines, and all drivers have to stop for pedestrians. I just looked ahead as I hobbled with a walking staff and this butt-head in a huge SUV had to slam on his brakes as I walked, legally, and he was in the wrong, but after the screeching halt, he didn't give me more than two or three paces, slowly, as I'm in pain just walking, and the asswipe started blowing his horn!
And I spun around and shuffled right up to the front of his car, and I blew up, and said, "What's your friggin' problem, asshole? I'm hobbling as fast as I can, and YOU HAVE TO STOP for me! Does my frickin' disability bother you, shithead?!" Debbie kept going, but I stared him down for almost 30 seconds until he looked chagrined, and wouldn't look at me again. So, I'm happiest where I am, because of assholes like him who think they're better than me, and get pissy when the pedestrian crosswalk has stoplights, and it puts them through oh-so-much friggin hardship on them to wait for a crippled veteran to cross the crosswalk! Ten seconds of their day, and they look at me as a lower-class citizen, and after combat time, I'm very easily triggered to blow up at these idiots who think they're better than me.
I don't think like that...I'm not better than the next person. But, when I get disrespected by people like that, my PTSD kicks in, and I turn and face the problem head-on. And I don't mince words, and say what I feel when I'm dissed. Thus, it's good for the general public, and butt-head drivers that I don't live in the city anymore. I kinda take it personally when asswipes do shit like that.
So, life of seclusion at the end of a dead-end road surrounded by the Arizona desert suits me fine. I just have no tolerance for people who don't stand for the Nat'l Anthem, but believe that others in the "lower classes" are the only people that belong in the military.
Thus I'll end this on an upscale point: be careful who you disrespect. You'll never know when someone who looks harmless is a combat veteran, with easy triggers. Cannabis helps. Whenever I go to town, I pack my neck pillow, staff, and butt-pack with pot candies, and a vape: and if I know it'll be a while until I get home, I put on my Mary's Medicinals Indica-THC patch. Look for it at your dispensary! They come in Indica-THC, Sativa-CBD, and hybrid patches, terpene-enriched; and I stick it on the inside of the wrist for 12 hours of continual release of cannabinoids and terpenes. Added to the vapes and candies, and that's the only way I leave the property. And the patches have helped me to stay calmer when confronted by buttwipe!
So, I'm happy, Debbie's happy, and I am comfortable where we are, and I will never again live in tract housing, or apartments.
And I can sit outside and enjoy a bong, or blunt, without the neighbors calling the cops, who will just tell whoever called that I'm a legally scripted medical cannabis patient and I'm not hurting them or anyone else. I hope I didn't ramble on too many subjects, and I have to constantly re-read everything before I submit for publishing. Feedback welcomed! Anyone in the area of Arizona where I'm living? C'mon over, we'll spark-up! As I always close out my posts and stories...
Positive healing vibes from the universe and free the Cannabacaea family from the prison of ignorance! Thanks for your time! Peace-out y'all! 🤘