Narrative Mostly-Freewriting #1

When I first started this job, I used to take the bus. I wanted to reward myself at the end of each day and make the commute home more enjoyable. So, I walked down to my local dispensary and got myself edibles. Rice krispie treat in my case. (It can tolerate being cut into 6+ pieces and eaten over time best. One $5 treat lasted 6 to 8 days.) By the time I got home, I’d usually decompressed from work and gotten a little hungry. Sometimes it was a light journey, listening to music and catching up on Facebook. Other times, shuffling through my playlists prods some sense memory that forced me to feel that profound pain loss I’ve done my best not to feel too often. Then I cry while I keep listening. This is how it’s leaking out now, so I might as well go with it. The leak will stop, aided by the walk from the bus stop home. Everyone keeps telling me that I should feel this pain, and I keep saying that I resent having to feel it in the first place. As I’m finding out, this has not been the healthiest thing in the world. So folks, allow yourselves to feel that horrible pain of loss when it happens. Storing up all that pain will come back to haunt you at the most inconvenient of times.

On Paydays, I started a tradition to go to the dispensary, which was right near one of my bus stops, and have a dab, much like someone else would stop at the bar or liquor store on Payday. There’s something therapeutic about consuming marijuana via concentrated wax. It’s a more “body high that taps into the third eye” kind of high than traditional flower tends to be (unless it’s REALLY good). It also allows me to bleed the pipes, so to speak. I can allow myself to feel that pain, but not to dwell on it too long. The old slogan fits, too, a little dab will do ya.

I still partake in this tradition every now and then. It’s cheaper than Starbucks, even with tip. These days, I’m lucky to have a car, but I still walk to and from the dispensary. Getting a DUI is an expense and hassle I don’t need. It’s roughly the same amount of time I spend on the bike at the gym, which is good because there’s no way I’m taking a Lyft too and from the gym. That would become an expensive habit fast.

The best part of the walk home is the music. I’m sure people around this neighborhood think I must be crazy because I’m dancing down the street like I’m in my own private musical. Listening to music stoned is something I’ve been doing for two dozen years. Usually it was when my late husband Kevin and I were working or I wanted to write or work on the online sales part of our business. That’s why a lot of music I enjoy triggers sense memory–Kevin introduced me to a lot of music that has become a part of my soul. I also love dancing, which gives me a way to channel emotional energy into movement. I learned how to do this when I was 18 and it really helps. Nowadays instead of dancing, it’s usually kicking. I spent most of my 30’s studying and teaching Taekwondo. I miss it, but I can’t go back to teaching unless I have another way to make an actual living. It’s the Art that I love, and as my Grandmaster taught me, it’s okay to charge people according to what would fit into their budget.

This little ritual is slightly reminiscent of an old one I had when I lived in Toluca Lake in my 20’s–get high, walk to Trader Joes, buy a bag’s worth of groceries, and walk home. It took less than an hour and I enjoyed it. There are a lot of happy memories of that time of my life. I think I need to remember that as I start to confront all the bad ones prompted by all the issues in my marriage.

I often find myself starting to write in my head. I’ve probably written this in my head a couple dozen times already. I guess that’s why it was relatively easy to finally set all this down.

I love living in this day and age, where I can actually do something like this, in the neighborhood I grew up in, thanks to the open-minded voters of California.

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