Wednesday, May 16, 2007

dirt is my weed

Originally posted on my MySpace blog on 5/4/07.

i love nature
Originally uploaded by gkp.
I think I have found my new favorite mood enhancer. Just a little bit, and I feel relaxed, calm, and happy. A lot, and just a short while later, I feel blissed out, slightly sleepy, and completely starved...

Ummm, I love me some good, sweet, green-smelling dirt!

I used to be a big fan of that other wonderful, relaxing mood-enhancer colloquially known as Weed, Ganja, Chronic, MJ. Back in college, of course. When I worked in a restaurant. With a lot of nice country boys and girls with good connections. College age + service industry + nice country boys/girls = lovely, lovely memories.

But now, I am older, and I don't partake of the wacky weed anymore, for several reasons. Here are my top three:

1- I am much older now, and have less brain cells to spare. I need to hold on to as many of those bad boys as I can.

2- I am much older now, and have many more fat cells than necessary. I need to prevent as many of those bad boys as I can.

3- I am much older now, and have a child, and currently, no arrest record. And as much as I loved the Chronic, I love my Little Dude even more, and only have one of those to spare. And unfortunately, the green stuff is illegal, and I just can't chance that. Nope. No way.

But duuuuuuuuude, sometimes, when life gets hairy, and I need a pick me up that won't put me down in the dumps, I fantasize about it. Oh, I could use some of that. That happy, sweet, smiley feeling.

And then I found that feeling again- in the dirt!

Planting just one little plant, fingers deep in the dirt, hollowing out a place in a pot of soil, or working a hole in the ground, gives my that calm, happy feeling in spades. (Look, I made a gardening joke!) And the more plants or bulbs or seeds I have, the more that feeling multiplies, and wells up in me, and gets under my fingernails, and the feeling lasts for at least a day after- a much better rate of return than 30 minutes...well, maybe an hour or so if you got some really good shit...

If my young self could hear me now, she would take a swig of her beer, tuck her wavy blonde hair behind her ears, and eye me very suspiciously while reaching for her bong. She would note that she doesn't like keeping up with her laundry, and there is no way in hell that she'd enjoy trying to keep up with some damn plants, unless they're already picked, dried, and ready to smoke. And then she would laugh to think that she's gotten so square.

My older self listens, takes a swig of her beer, tucks her bushy red hair behind her ears, and eyes her with amusement. She notes that she still doesn't like keeping up with her laundry, but now she's able to keep up with a four year old, and hopefully, a few plants that have already given her as much, if not more peace, than that beloved 18 inch hand-blown glass bong. And then, she laughs too.


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