One of my favorite things to do while smoking weed… sitting holed up in my basement office, shivering and on my computer. Disguised as “work”, it is really time alone on Pinterest, listening to something sultry on Spotify, phone by my side alerting me of the texts that are simultaneously popping up on my computer. I am always reachable, connected, available for those who love me. I listen to my music through my husband’s fancy headphones, silencing the sounds of my him and the son playing Minecraft late at night.
Mothers, and fathers, and all those people chin deep in responsibilities, have a difficult time fitting in the extras that can make life so fulfilling. The gym, the bath, the journaling, listening to the music you want to hear, the tending to ones ‘self’… it gets shifted to the back. Reserved for the weekend or relegated to some hallmark holiday. It’s not a tragedy or anything, just part of being a grown up. Daydreaming is left for the ones with nothing on their mind. And don’t parents of young kids always have something on their minds? I know that during an average day of hands-on mothering I operate on a supernatural wavelength somewhere between mind reading and mind control. At the very least I sprout eyes on the back of my head.
Smoking weed and daydreaming go hand in hand. When I’m sitting here with no more of the days responsibleness in front of me, I am free to brainstorm. Its making new boards, or adding more lists to the list of lists to make, reading reddit, or meticulously and singularly organizing something not requiring such attention, as only a very stoned person can.
If the day of mothering is not yet over and I find myself to be stoned, I am still that finely tuned ‘mother’ described above, but have suddenly lost all rigidity, tired voice, aggravated exhale. The happiness the children give me is magnified and it is no longer bothersome to sit for another forty minute tea party.
My point is, at the end of the realness of every day- when you are operating for others, usually on autopilot, pushing thoughts away out of necessity to get out of the door- it is a great luxury to allow the brain time to daydream or dawdle, to obsessively write, think, research, read for pleasure.
The little things in the suburban life that make one feel creatively or personally satisfied, surely that is something to celebrate?
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