The Privacy Sandwich and Candy Manupular ride the Rehab Revolving Door

Well.

Better “down” it.

Fast and Furiously.

Like, Yesterday.

The end of the year is fast approaching and the rollovers may or may not occur. Depending on your plan, device and vice.

Sadly, But Truly. We all have been under the bus, just didn’t know it, Couldn’t stop it, didn’t care, at the time, the list is endless. Until it hit us—Like a ton of bricks. The bill came or never came, we never saw it. Perhaps it was lost along with the check in the mail. So, we did what any responsible party does. We dined. We dashed. We left them in our dust. What kinda dust…….No bill? Never happened…..right? Or. Wrong? Somebody out there somewhere is paying for it. Paying or not paying the price.

For the value of a human life.

Thank heavens for small and tiny favors. Yes? No.? I guess. no. No. No. No. Not party favors, Christmas favors, even upcoming New Years’s favors.

The other kind of favors………Ohhhhhhhhhh. You reply. But you really are not sure, or certain. The “bought for ya” drink, the “paid for yur burger” the “fork is dirty”, please “get me a clean one” favor……To name just a few. And those, well, those are rather “minor” in the grand scheme of was is intruding onto the streets via………

Bags. Powder. Bags and Powder. Some of it, the powder is even sparkly-makes it all the more enticing. No. No. No. It does not run our cars, or clean our toilet bowls. Although, we might starting hoping that it will if the price of a life keeps going down.

Where is that actuary when you need ‘em. Might be bent over the bowl wishing for better times. Of life. Of year. Of moments. Of graphs and pie charts.

The prognosial outcome of Rehab is not always death. The goal is recovery. And the drivers driving the cost are here. It is everywhere. And like all good and tiny “things” can kill a person in an instant. The luxury of getting hit by a ton of bricks now seems well, ok. Who needs an AK-47 when you have a sparkly powder staring you in the face. And I will not be the first to say it, the name of it because I do not want to be the first to tell you about it, participate in you knowing about it.

Call me crazy.

Nor,

Do I want you to see it, learn it, know it, try it first hand ON THE STREETS. Where it lives and breathes.

Nope. Raw deal. No deal from me to you. Because for some, like good and delicious coffee beans, once sniffed, a trance-like overwhelming feeling of need and needs comes a calling. In some cases, once snuffed, once puffed. There is no going back home. From the streets.

The streets may become a place they now call home. The home of addiction. The streets do not appear to be getting any homier either. A “vacation” of sorts from this “home on the streets” is called.No. No. No.

Not Airbnb, or Chez Paul, or the beach. Btw. Which way to the….🏋️💪🏻👆🏻👇🏻Beach.

It is Cozily called: “Rehab”. As in Rehabilitation. And in some places, spaces and states, they are happy to have you back. Time and again. The Rehab Revolving Door.

”Hook’em instead of Book ‘em” Is the Welcome sign on the door.

They are happy to see you back. To “monitor” your progress. Your privacy. Picking on and picking at, and choosing the “meat” of the human sandwich. They have noticed your clothes haven’t changed much…….

Ahhhhhhhh.😫🫥

Rehab.

The Ultimate Community Service

The Ultimate Community Service Provider in some areas.

You know with the price of gas and all.

And.Let’s not forget the rent on the building.

The ones who fail and fatally do not complete the Rehab coursework says nothing about their personal strength and will. It says everything about A System Failure—the current broken system failure.

A Systemic Failure of our/the foundations designed to protect us.

One need not wonder if the revolving doors in a hospital on the entrance and exits of a hospital are put there intentionally…To cause a dizzying-ness forcing us to forget why we are there in the first place.. To keep the “riff raff” out? The visitors? Or the local pharmaceutical rep……

Oh. The good ole days. There used to exist little pads-o-paper from the established, licensed, degreed hippocratically oathed doctor. Let’s just call it a love letter of sorts, a love note from the doctor to you. For your well being and your care.

Scribbled on the note said something like: “Take this much medicine at this time of day, this many times a day. And we will cure you together. And help you feel good. Better.

Not so much like that today. The transportation to and fro the hospital. The beds, the pillows all became quite expensive. To replace. To launder.

Now. It all comes to you. You do not Even have to move. From the couch. Somebody is making darn tootin sure of that. Isolation and desperation now in front of and behind your own front door. Who needs that Rehab Revolving Door anyway. What do those white unmarked vans deliver anyway?……….

Who. By the way pays the gas for the van, the rent on the Chez Paul—even if and when you are not in bed with the staff?

We all do.

No more little pad-o-paper Doctor love notes to you from Doc. Who needs Doctors with out borders when there are not any borders? Just wide open streets of fun and all night street slumber parties. Gotta keep the system and you spinning out of control. Off balance. A prescription for help for you to help yourself? Nope.Not today.

Very few will touch that mess with a ten foot pole. The revolving door of dizzying acceptance has its plusses.The pharmaceutical rep likes what he or she is selling. Here. Try it you will like it.

No where is there a mention of quitting “Cold Turkey” until later. Much later. Bills to pay. Rent to pay. Mouths to feed. Who will you call? The doctor. The pharmacist? The ambulance? And while the ambulance is still gassing up, the candy manupular takes hold. And a life and lives are at stake. Chances are, chances are good some medical folks have been knee deep in “it” for quite some time. For a long time.

Who knew?

Not me.

Indeed.

Who knows?

Now.

Great question.

The need for speed is a powerful buzz.

Just look down at the phone in your own hands.

My apologies. That is a different kind of buzz.

For another time.

Folks living on the streets often do not have the time to check their phones.

They are too busy working on survival.

Where the streets have no name. (2U)