In the autumn tremor of my twilight years, I found myself amidst a storm, wrestling with an ill-mannered deltoid bully – an unforgiving pain that'd taken refuge in my right shoulder, sneaking creaky coquetry between sinew and bone. Now, as a gentleman of advanced years, I've seen most of the curveballs life can throw but this was a knuckleball coming at me from a blindside. Thus, in the pursuit of relief, I dipped my wrinkled fingertips into rather elusive charm of CBD, specifically a balm brazen as a pool-side flamingo and just as confusing: "Bucketful of Soothe".
The name in itself was profoundly curious, a delightful symbolism reminiscent of Samuel Clemens' raconteurs by the Mississippi. The promise spelled of a relishing journey, a bucketful of releasable pain, tantamount to that of reloading a Tom Clancy's Rambo with a full carton of ammunition.
Yet, on the brink of hope, wagon hitched to the CBD bandwagon, I uncovered a heart-sinking reality. This alleged bucketful of soothing tincture had played "Doctor Moreau" with a Patas monkey's third cousin – a fluttering eyelashed ring-tailed lemur. Evidently making it as vegan friendly as a plateful of tender Boston roast at an Easter dinner. The initial disappointment paired with indignation expressed itself like an unhinged barn door in tornado weather.
Nevertheless, driven by insomnious agony and the very audacious decrepitude that looms in my limbs, I decided to lend this Bucketful of Soothe its opportunity. Rolled it on my disgruntle deltoid like a genuine soldier of fortune. The effect, dear compadres of the digital frontier, was as startling as finding a raccoon soaking in your backyard hot tub.
The first fluttering essence of peace was like the warm summer's breeze caressing the heartland prairies, while the wicked pain scampered away like an egotistical peacock, feathers ruffled. I felt akin to a Greek god on his divine dog sled, serenely gliding on the frozen Hercules belt, only to discover it a deceitful mirage cast by a merciless trickster deity.
Not scarce hours had passed before pain trooped back in, more ferocious, like a burglar slighted in a previous escapade, bludgeoning my right shoulder with unsolicited vim and vigour. A bucketful of promises turned into a boutonniere of disappointments.
Bucketful of Soothe lured me into a dance only to step on my toes. Upon further adversity, I even present a question: Was it the sly wink of the lemur in the trials that ignited this treacherous payback? A mystery it remains. So, dear kindred cyber souls, remain wary of this misadventure. And if you ever see a Bucketful of Soothe, show it the same courtesy you would to a skunk at a summer garden party.
The journey, while tumultuous, did offer a resplendent realization or perhaps a reaffirmation – that enduring life's ailments was half the adventure. Off I go, limping, grumbling and doing the only thing an 89-year-old CBD enthusiast can do. Keep moving forward, snorting with derision, eyes brimming with cerebral adventures and a soul full of gusto.