So I picked up a quad tonight. I'm taking unprescribed medical ganja smoke, as JuelzyT so poetically refers to it. I keep forgetting and rediscovering that weed treats my anxiety. Chelsea said it was anxiety the other night, so I went home and looked it up and realized that she was right. Son of a bitch. Why didn't somebody say something sooner?
You can't tell someone something until they're ready to hear it. My new hookup to the ganja ganj (again, ©JuelzyT) said that she was living in a glass closet back in the day. Glass closet is right, except that my closet was more like a one-way window with rainbow light beams shooting out of the side I couldn't see.
Since my sophomore year of college every person who's come out to me has been relaying old news. I've got the gaydar thing down to a science but it could never turn inward. People would say things and my busy brain would go about picking the comment apart and proudly presenting me with a host of alternative explanations to choose from and call my own.
Speaking of homo stuff while also returning to the whole ganja smoke situation, Nena and I had the most awesome mini rave just now. She sat between my legs while I listened to music and gave her a massage. The sour diesel had me flying around and thinking I'd found the most important task in the world right then and life was pretty damn spiffy.
I have no patience for transitions or a cohesive story right now.
That is all.
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