I’ll be the first to admit that a large part of my 20s was spent in a euphoric haze brought on by fairly regular pot smoking.
I loved the stuff — and it certainly loved me.
I don’t feel I ever had a “problem” with it, but I did feel a strong pull to have it in my life. Sure, I got side-tracked sometimes with philosophical discoveries, but I was still making progress towards my goals.
I got my degree, and worked effectively in my field. I never went to school or work while stoned. That said, I certainly used pot on my own time. Cannabis allowed me to chill and appreciate the simple moments of my not-so-hectic (though I thought it was) twenty-something life.
"I loved the stuff — and it certainly loved me." Image via iStock.
A high from weed was sort of like a pair of rose-colored glasses and a shoulder rub, to me. It made everything feel just a little bit lighter.
Fast forward 15 years, throw in three kids, a house, a husband, and some part-time writing, and, well… there’s no time or space for my former pot-smoking ways. In fact, I’ve had a lonely bag of weed (given to me by a friend) sitting in the back corner of our junk drawer for over two years.
Two years! Back in the day, that shit wouldn’t have lasted two days.
Obviously, finding the right time for “Mummy to get high” is no easy feat. Especially since I have a tween who stays up almost as late as we do now.