What it Takes

What it Takes

Let’s take a trip and never leave the farm, shall we?
But, this time, let’s make the drug of choice; Reality!
First let’s put prudish manners to the side, I am not being prudish here, it’s the vision I see before me; that is what is driving this.
People scoff at the thought of coughing up a loogie, but they have no problem singing along to a country song with lyrics discussing a drop of honey from a woman’s money maker. It’s not Prudish to say that such lyrics are degrading to womanhood, it shows just how low we have sunk though, men; it’s up to you to step up and be gentlemanly in what you do, see and watch, most definitely in what you say.
So, save the prudishness for something other than this, having some goodly amount of character in life is not being prudish; it’s being dignified.
Take note, character cannot be bought, it is a personal development process of wanting something better internally, there are homeless people with more dignified character than some of the nonhomeless and wealthy people amongst any of us today; it’s a given.
Take a trip and never leaving the farm, that was coined back in the late sixties by some rock group, in a time when getting loaded was the thing to do and gaining an insane amount of popularity.
Well the aftermath, like a rooster in the barnyard, the rooster is coming home to roost; some people just don’t see it happening, the blindness of society.
I opened my house up for a friend of a friend that needed a place to stay, her family had packed up and left the state, she was in need. I had just gone through a bad year, so I knew what she felt.
One of the major ground rules of the house, was there will be no dysfunction, the rest of the rules are easy to understand: It’s a dry house, no substance abuse of any kind. No cussing, you want to talk like a barfly, head to the bar, just don’t come back drunk. You want smut, then move, it don’t entertain me in the least. Show respect for the common area, run the vacuum cleaner now and then, and dust. Cleaning up your own mess, I’m not your mother. Abide by that, and we might just get along.
Well that brings us to today, well kind of; but yes, she is mad at me.
See, the drug world makes money, they don’t care about their customers, their lives or their families. There are wishes and hopes granted for a better life ahead, only in what betterment you can achieve in a deprived state of mind; but never the quality you may wish to come from the dreams you once had.
That monkey you put on your back, when you took that first toke, when you shot that first needle into your arm, popped that first pill, or downed that 5th of Jack; that monkey wants you to stay the way you are forever, a child. That monkey, he loves your dysfunctions, you are now food to him.
She, by her own admission, did all the recreational drug’s, the ones that are “okay,” the then and now legal stuff, like marijuana is today; but see that monkey never gets enough, it’s always hungry.
Soon she says, it was Meth, lost teeth, bad skin, if the other stuff was okay, what happened to her gray-matter, that stuff between the ears?
It was depleted, dwindled, broken; all because she made a choice, but now she demands people around her to accept her faulty actions with the logic that only she understands in her convoluted state of mind.
So, now she is in need of a home, I opened the door, her friends live right next door, no problem, she wouldn’t get stupid with them next door; would she? Oh you bet, remember that monkey?
We had three conversations, that is one every two and a third month’s, they all turned into arguments because she couldn’t step past her sixteen year old mentality.
The rules of the house? No dysfunction!
Pure and simple, she didn’t respect the house, the common area wasn’t her’s even though she used it, just her little corner of the world, like a non caring teen going through puberty.
The daycare bus arrives at noon, be on it!
Some people are given a gift in life and they appreciate the gift, keeping it safe and sound. Other people, they are given a gift, and they take the proverbial leak all over it, and when the person that gave the gift of their home, a shelter away from life’s storm, gets tired of their actions; well, they are the oager.
Last night, she was told to leave by the end of the month, the rent for last month is due, if you stay here a half a month, you owe me a half a months rent, any longer, you owe me a months rent. The math isn’t that hard, pay the last month’s rent and get out, apparently it was that hard, talked to my neighbor last night, she thought I wanted an extra months rent for March, a month that isn’t even in the equation; and it had better not be. I want my sanity back!
I lost, she ruined a kitchen floor, caused my cat so much stress that he started tearing his fur out, her filth is seen throughout the house, but her bathroom and bedroom is clean; yes she did have her own bathroom.
And with her actions and disregard, I am supposed to be HAPPY?
Yes, my cat had to be put to sleep due to complications of stress, and when that happened, she accepted the responsibility of her actions, not the remorse though; that was beyond her capabilities.
So today, she won’t talk to me, she is seeking a place to go, to live, due to her own actions; no conversation of any kind. Makes me wonder, what is important to this person? She just stomps out like I am the sin, I am the demon; never looking at, or dealing with that monkey that is eating away at her.
That’s okay with me, sometimes less is better, I can deal with the silent treatment from an immature person very well, still I wonder though; is today’s brand of drama and lost dreams worth wallowing in your self imposed murk really worth the outcome?
Now let’s move on to family, and society; it’s all a part of our lives, everyone’s lives.
Her own family is refusing to be there for her, some burnt bridges and a hungry monkey doesn’t help any; only causes grief.
They were happy that she came to live here, but in my looking back, they should have been paying me, it will take a month of Sunday’s to rid myself of her earmarking’s of her time spent here.
The really bad part, society is full of these people, the peace and love generation gave us that gift. The long black train of the hippie movement is full of sixty year olds just like her, and those that are younger as well as older; they will be a part of our lives for a long time.
I am not nor ever have been one of them, don’t nor ever cared what Woodstock was like, don’t even want to see it immortalized; certainly there is nothing in that generation worth immortalizing.
Not with what they have to leave behind, take a good long look out the window; then try to tell my grandkids that generation left them something better, or that they left them that better world the songs were written about.
Today a better world is like a dream, distant in life’s mist.
I hope, society and family gets their acts together, because the rooster is coming home to roost, he and the monkey will be playing poker with their corn liquor having a good old time.
What it takes?
Ask the future generations.

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