When Life Gives You Lemons

My wife and I had been separated for about two days, and she agreed to meet me publicly at Applebee’s, next to the Olive Garden where we met, at the corner of I-20 and Cooper here in Arlington, Texas.

“I don’t want anything to do with anyone who wants anything to do with the cannabis industry at the level which you want to go.” She said firmly.

My heart sank like a runaway elevator. I know what she wanted me to say. A year ago we had moved from green as all get-out California to 100-felonies-a-day Texas, which was not very friendly toward my “addiction” or “drug abuse,” which was only fit for a “criminal,” and definitely NOT a respectable entrepreneur and budding politician.

“Then you don’t want anything to do with me.” I replied.

She wasn’t going to trap me. I have given up cannabis 3 or 4 times to appease her. No more will I pretend. Cannabis keeps me moving. Many people struggle not to commit suicide struggling with one of my disorders, muchless all 7.

We are just victims in a war, and sometimes wars separate families. I hate it the most. It just makes me want to fight harder.

I am not asking for a free ride, just a little patience. I do not mean anyone harm. These lines are not threats, but patriotic passion. If you get anything else, then you don’t know me.

Call me, though. I love to have intellectual conversation with excellent people. Don’t hesitate. Give me a holla. We can talk about a smaller, more sane government, and how to make it happen…together.

Wagen, over and out.