Grammy’s Bong Continued

Just to dial in my readers on the bong thing.

Every so often I take a hit.

I have pain. Not just downstream pain but hair raising OMG I’m gonna jump out of my skin pain.

I think a lot of people might think I’m writing my blather while comfortably ensconced in a refrigerator box under a bridge as I tap tap away while burning my brain cells to ash.

That is not the case.

While others my age are getting lost in opioids I quietly sit on my porch, take a puff and wait for the electric pains in my old bod to loosen up their fiery grasp on my bones so that I can have a life.

Getting old is not for sissies. This statement is oh too true.

I can’t buzz around anymore. The pace of my life is glacial compared to the jumping around, faster than the speed of light life I used to have.

I miss that life. I grieve that life and time is marching through my body like a herd of red ants on their way to a picnic.

I think the Red States that wail and holler about the opioid crisis while enforcing draconian pot laws are a bunch of ding dong conservatives that have lost touch with the reality that there are other ways to have pain relief other than supporting the pharmaceutical industry.

So here’s the deal. I am going to talk about the real stuff in my life. I don’t need to search high a low for ways to be genuine. I am genuine and that’s that.

I think people's secrets and special truth hideaways are lost.

Tell the truth, good or bad. Everybody is so caught up in their own BS they won’t notice or they will be shocked or find it “ Refreshing”.

Frankly I don’t give a hairy mouses patootie.

I do a lot of stuff that people that people judge. That’s my life and so what.

I’m not going to put some jive ass crap on these pages to make people like me. Either you do or don’t. I can’t do anything about that.

What I can do is tell my truth and share the mini wisdoms I have accrued from 72 years on the planet. That is my quest.

I may be some saggy ass old doll that cruises through life with a bong in one hand and Sartre in the other but one thing I won’t do is try to look good for the judges of my life.

So like my stuff or not. That is completely up to you however when you have walked a mile with shattered feet and a bloody heart I heartily invite your commentary on my lifes choices.

Until that time comes I will continue the open discussion of my life and times from here, the air around the donut hole.

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