Marijuana

Marijuana has been a consistent presence in my life since I was 18. Aside from a few personal breaks, she’s always been there—my towel, my ritual, my balance. It started in parking lots and long waits, not knowing what strain you’d get, and maybe not even getting the weed. And now? One click and a tracked text away. It’s wild.

I’ve smoked through pipes, joints, edibles, and even tried switching to alcohol once—didn’t stick. I prefer the zen of a joint in hand while thinking, coding, or sipping coffee. Not even to get high anymore. It’s just my way of settling into rhythm. Oral fixation. A grounding tool.

I’ve grown it. Tried to sell it. Built marijuana websites. Taken photos of plants and jars. At one point, I had 40 pre-jarred labeled strains ready to launch as a business. Even built a proto-dispensary platform using Joomla + JomSocial. But the industry outpaced me. Weedmaps launched six months after my pitch got rejected. Same concept. Same tech. They won. I kept smoking.

These days, I get it direct—farm hookup. $80 an ounce, delivered. I know the strains I like (Gorilla Glue, Blue Dream), the papers I use (Zig-Zag hemp), and I’ve refined my ritual to a science. I roll with auto rollers. I order papers in bulk. And I keep my stash dialed in for daily use—no nonsense, no hype.

This isn’t a brand play or a hustle. It’s a part of me. Part of my rhythm. Part of my design. I’m not in the cannabis industry. But it’s in me, and I’m good with that.