Highly inspired by a gal pal’s eatables, I have spent the better part of my day attempting to make cannabis butter. My kitchen smells like pot. For all my 420 friendliness, I hate my home smelling like pot. I hope that my grumpiness is a temporary condition that fades tomorrow, when I try the peanut butter chip cookies.
Over the next month I will be moving to Castle Rock. I’ll be moving in with my girlfriend. It’s gonna be fantastic. In that same vein, I’ll be moving home to the NOLA area much sooner than I’d originally intended.
In season three, episode ten, Jon Snow is talking to the woman he loves. He says, exasperated, exhausted, and bleeding, “I have to go home now.” That is the melodramatic version of my feels. It’s getting to be time. I miss the Spanish moss. I miss the Quarter. I miss my boy. I have to go home soon.
I think the thing that makes home home, is that it will be there when I’m ready. I imagine I’ll get stir crazy again at some point. I can see myself plotting a three-month expedition across Costa Rica one day. I fully intend to burrow into the snow with my girl a few times a year. I’ll travel and explore. I’m not one to stay too still.
The idea of going home, to what is proposed as a sort of “forever home” to boot, scares me to no end. I feel like having an escape route is the only way I can go into this situation. It seems insane to need to escape one’s own home, but I spent a few years pushing my brother and sister out of windows in childhood homes.
Pot was very recently legalized in Louisiana. Cannabis has helped me heal in countless ways over the last three years, and it is something I feel would help nearly all PTSD survivors. Granted, not all, but I’m sure a vast number would find aid with sleeping, eating, managing flashbacks, coping with anxiety, and becoming self-aware. Despite the many benefits of pot, smoking is bad for the lungs. I can hear myself wheeze sometimes when I’m just standing still. Thus, cannabutter. I did receive a high-quality vaporizer from my doctor, but I use it less than recommended. Turns out that I’m not only asthmatic, but also stubborn. I can usually force down a cookie.
In case anyone was wondering, I am not breaking up with Matt. Nor has he broken up with me. Grad school is hard, and living in the boondocks is hard. We’re gonna try something different. “If you’re not getting happier as you get older, then you’re fucking up.”
My concerns for Sansa do not keep me up as late as they used to. My adoration for Tyrion has not had to waiver in the slightest. I’ve been reborn in my awe for the Silver Lady and replenished in my fantasies about the Breaker of Chains. Arya is gonna be a ninja fucking warrior. I love this show beyond rational amounts of television love.