I finally broke down and splurged on a Kindle edition of the NY Times. I’ve been cruising the Internet for news lately, and it’s next to impossible to get decent news coverage without a subscription. The lack of decent news reporting and well-written op-eds has been driving me crazy. Like, how many times can a person tolerate being told that Cecil the lion’s killer is going back to work?
One reason I’d hate being a journalist is because journalists often have to follow orders that follow the money. It doesn’t matter that this sort of reporting is going to endanger the guy’s life, business, or the lives and jobs of his staffers. It only matters that it’s drama that gets more clicks and makes another buck. This is vicious journalism, almost intended to inflame radicals. No no, I totally get it, guys. You need your jobs too, and this is what a journalist does. It’s just that, for me, it takes up space in my Google news portal where a really important article might have gone. Which brings me back to the reason I decided to bite the bullet and pay for a subscription to the full NY Times. You get what you pay for.
I hate jumping on the I-love-marijuana bandwagon, but I guess I already have. I haven’t been interested in comprehensive news in years. Pot is giving me back a life.
You’d have thought that pot smoking would take away all quality of life for me and that I’d be spending my days, tongue hanging out, slobbering, crashed on the couch in front of the TV all day. That’s the image you get when you think “drug addict”.
However, I’m telling you that this is different. I’ve been an (opioid) addict before, so I know what true addiction is. With pot, my yoga and meditating are more intuitive, I’m more interested in what’s happening in the world outside of my home, and I’m a lot more active than I’ve ever been with any other medical solution. All of those things are factors in why my pain is more tolerable now than it has been since it started, about three years ago, and my happiness level has skyrocketed in comparison to back then.
If pot is truly a Schedule 1 substance (as dangerous as heroin with no medicinal value), then this is the way I choose to die. I’m happy, active, and interested in the world, what more can a person ask for?
As a part of the newfound intuitive abilities that pot’s given me, I have realized that Pup asks to go out every 5 hours exactly. That means he goes out four times a day. The reason I’m telling you this is because it leads into the answer for today’s prompt.
About a week ago, Pup did his usual “asking” at midnight, which makes sense. If I’m asleep he won’t bother me, but if I’m awake he’ll sit by me staring, which is the way he lets me know.
Anyway, I took him out. Coming back to the house, I was hit with a spontaneous urge to run and dance with total joy and abandon — like a child. I sort of skip-hopped in my pitch-dark pot-holed driveway with my arms waving, and then decided not to continue lest I have my first marijuana-related injury.
I will make a confession here that I never in a million years would confess in a religious setting: Pot and meditation are perfect siblings. Meditation directs my mind inward, and being high is like fuel that feeds my meditation. Okay, now I’ve done said the unthinkable. I’ll try not to say it ever again.
Anyway, I blame those two things as the source of that momentary elation. It’s at times like that that I think, “Wow, being retired is the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time!”.
Written in response to today’s WordPress Daily Prompt The Young and the Rested : When was the last time you felt truly rejuvenated and energized? What made you feel that way? Thanks for the prompt suggestion, jessicadanielaa!