Apr 13 2009

Picking Up the Pieces

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I finally managed to force myself to go through some of the boxes I’ve had sitting on the floor of my room for a year now. Boxes full of receipts and old mail and documents. I found the acknowledgement by San Bernardino County of my claim against them. I’ve been looking for that for 5 years now. The last I remember having it I was at the Victor’s, trying to work on writing the brief myself since it appeared I wasn’t going to find a lawyer to take it pro bono. And Martin had to use the fax machine, or something, and by the time that fire-drill was over it was misplaced until now, five years later, I finally managed to find it.


I still haven’t found the photograph of my great-great-grandfather Allred, and I fear that is gone forever.

Click the image on the right to read the article about the claim in the San Bernardino Sun of 18 Mar 2004.

For all of the documents from the raid, the criminal trial, the eviction, and the HUD/California Board of Fair Housing and Employment Complaint, click the following: Morongo Valley Timeline

A Week Later…

It’s now a week later, the day after 420. Seems it’s taken me this long to try to finish this entry.

I’m just about out of medicine and I see my ‘caregiver’ has specials right now of $250/ounce. So I spent a large part of yesterday trying to figure out whether to take an advance against my next disability insurance payment and spend the day going to San Francisco and back on the train, or to do without and/or smoke that shake I’ve had for 5 years now until the 3rd, or get a half-ounce at $165.

The shake is clippings I got from trimming bud while I was staying with Jane. And I think it was sprayed with Avid, the stuff that killed Jane. It has an awful taste and I have to smoke one after another after another because it’s so weak, and after a couple of days my mouth feels coated with something awful, it knocks me out (puts me to sleep), my mind isn’t clear on it, and I get very irritable when I use it. But I can’t bring myself to throw it away, as it is better than doing without.

I figure buying an ounce will save the cost of a trip to San Francisco over buying a half-ounce, which would be about $15.

Taking $100 advance will cost me $10. So the savings on a trip to San Francisco more or less cancels the cost of the advance…

So, buying 1/2 ounce at $165 will cost me $40.

Seems an ounce lasts me 20 days.

I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to grow my own again. I did everything I could think of and risked everything I had to keep from finding myself in this position, to keep from being dependent on buying my medicine, knowing from the start I could never afford to buy as much as I need.

A couple of days was all I could spend digging through the past before I had to push the remaining boxes of documents and receipts against the wall and leave them for awhile. It was just too depressing.

There is no excuse for my having to live this way. Firstly, I made enough on my own that I should have been comfortable for the rest of my life. And secondly, because my father left me enough to be comfortable for the rest of my life. But the government stole it all (directly and indirectly) because I was a medical marijuana patient.

I only wish I had known back in 1986 what I know now. I would never have taken Prozac and would probably have never gone to a psychiatrist for depression in the first place. But I had been brainwashed to believe that cannabis was not medicine and, indeed, had been sober and active in alcoholics anonymous for five or six years at that point.

Going through what remains of my life, a few boxes of documents and receipts, brings back one tragic memory after another.

I still haven’t filed the papers to get my medicine back from the police. It’s been nearly six months now since my public defender told me she’d call me about it. I asked her every time I saw her and she shined me on repeatedly. I often wonder if I prevailed in spite of her.

One of the reasons I haven’t filed the documents yet is that when reading over ASA’s blueprint for return of property it appears I’m going to have to spend $100 or so to file all the paper work. At least that’s what it would cost me if I didn’t have a printer and scanner. And when I learned someone would be giving me a printer and scanner I decided to wait to save probably the $20-$50 it would cost me to rent a computer and printer to print out the documents, fill them out by hand, and make copies.

But the biggest reason is the police department wants property receipt numbers and I decided before filing the papers with what I think are the property receipt numbers I should try to find them in those boxes of documents and receipts I have.

And I can’t bring myself to spend more than a few hours going through the past.

I figure at this point trying to get my medicine back from the police – altogether more than an ounce of top quality bud – will just be more expense and injustice for me. But I can’t live with myself if I don’t do it.

Also lost in my boxes of documents and receipts was the time-card I got some months ago for the hours of community service I received as a sentence for being denied not just housing, but toilet facilities – i.e., because I am human and have to pee when I wake up in the morning, first thing.

I gave up trying to find the original and got a replacement and should have the community service finished by the end of the month. I have until May 18th to complete 11 hours of ‘community service’. Actually, I’ve already done the hours, I just need to do the paperwork.


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