DAN TRIES THC GUMMIES
I've never had THC infused gummies before. I can't imagine what they're going to be like. I've heard mixed reviews from a few sources, but I wanted to try it out for myself. You all know me, I love to adventure and push myself to new limits. Usually chemical limits, but eh, we all need something in life, right? I got these up at Neta in Northampton, Massachusetts. The link to their website will be posted below so you can check it out! They also have a location out near Boston, I'm not sure of the city, I think it's Brockton? Either way, you can link to each of the dispensary locations off of the Neta website. Both locations are open for medical and recreational sales of flower, wax, edibles and more.
So the gummies I have are the D-Line Lumens Variety bottle. They sell for $30.00 a bottle before tax. That's one thing I hate about recreational usage. Cannabis sales tax and Marijuana Excise Tax. Like they don't take me for enough shit? Pleasure isn't free anymore. Any way to suck the joy out of life, the federal government or any type of authority figure really, will jump on that shit in half a minute.
So the gummies I have are the D-Line Lumens Variety bottle. They sell for $30.00 a bottle before tax. That's one thing I hate about recreational usage. Cannabis sales tax and Marijuana Excise Tax. Like they don't take me for enough shit? Pleasure isn't free anymore. Any way to suck the joy out of life, the federal government or any type of authority figure really, will jump on that shit in half a minute.
And just like that, I'm falling backwards, falling through time and I'm 13 again. It's raining and I'm on a school trip to watch a Shakespeare play. I run out of the theatre, feeling my heart beating out of my chest. All of my anxiety and frustrations are rising to the surface, desperate to escape the confines of me. I love the rain. I want to splash around in it. I want it to touch me. Clean me. I can't stop laughing at the idea of a raindrop wearing a shower cap and clutching a soapy bath brush ready to give me a good scrub. It feels like my laughter is echoing inside of me. I think maybe I had a few too many gummies. I realise that I'd eaten 6 of them in a row. I should have taken it slow. It's a little different than that chocolate...but it's still the same right? Maybe because I wasn't paying attention to the dosages...no, I gotta be honest here. I wanted to be fucked off my face and now I am. I lay on the floor and swim through my memories. I watch the play on the inside of my eyelids, wondering how much is memory and how much is drawn from films I've watched at different parts in my life. I can't believe that I have a timeline of existence. Me. Am I even sure I exist?
It feels like I'm Bruce Robertson in Filth. I love my annual holiday. I love the chippy. I love getting fucked off my face. I love to abuse any position of authority I have. I'm horrible deep down. The real difference? I'm not Scottish. I mean, by means I blood I am on my mum's side...maybe a bit on my father's side too. With him, I can never really remember. He doesn't matter anyway. He's not been in the picture for a long time...Or really ever. I only have one clear memory of him that's good. I'm little, maybe about 5 or so and he's pushing me on my swing in the back garden. I go higher and higher, watching my trainers punch holes in the evening sky. Everything is calm and good. I haven't crashed and burned yet. I'm filled with youth and optimism. I believe my father loves me and will never hurt me.
It feels like my stomach is fucking dissolving. I might just cry. I don't know where it's come from or why. I may be screaming without realising it. I'm already on meds for depression and anxiety; it must just magnify the weed. I don't know. I run around in circles until I wear myself out. I need to lay down. I throw myself on the ground and look up at the ceiling. There's a constellation of glowy stars above me. I can't wait to paint the ceiling a deep inky black blue then stick the stars back up. I want to live inside the solar system. (Don't I already do that??)
It feels like I'm Bruce Robertson in Filth. I love my annual holiday. I love the chippy. I love getting fucked off my face. I love to abuse any position of authority I have. I'm horrible deep down. The real difference? I'm not Scottish. I mean, by means I blood I am on my mum's side...maybe a bit on my father's side too. With him, I can never really remember. He doesn't matter anyway. He's not been in the picture for a long time...Or really ever. I only have one clear memory of him that's good. I'm little, maybe about 5 or so and he's pushing me on my swing in the back garden. I go higher and higher, watching my trainers punch holes in the evening sky. Everything is calm and good. I haven't crashed and burned yet. I'm filled with youth and optimism. I believe my father loves me and will never hurt me.
It feels like my stomach is fucking dissolving. I might just cry. I don't know where it's come from or why. I may be screaming without realising it. I'm already on meds for depression and anxiety; it must just magnify the weed. I don't know. I run around in circles until I wear myself out. I need to lay down. I throw myself on the ground and look up at the ceiling. There's a constellation of glowy stars above me. I can't wait to paint the ceiling a deep inky black blue then stick the stars back up. I want to live inside the solar system. (Don't I already do that??)
I can't believe I'm almost 30 years old. It doesn't seem right. I should still be 8 years old. Building sandcastles, swimming in the creek, camping, riding my bike. I shouldn't be trapped inside a workforce that is slowing draining everything good about me. It should be 1999. Me dancing with an ice lolly stained face to Sublime as the summer heat rises. My throat is dry. I can taste time moving around me. My stomach hurts. Rewind. Fast forward 14 years. I'm in Taupo, New Zealand. I see the mountainous raise before me. The mist carefully kisses the surface of the lake. I can't help but wonder if this reality is nothing more than a dress rehearsal for something else. The ragged vocals of Billy Corgan still hit me in the exact same way. I feel my skin prickle with his emotion, mirroring my own. I open my eyes and I'm still on the floor. I want to drown in all these memories, but then I remember they are only altered chunks of time, creating an illusion that will never ring true. My denial of everything almost makes things bearable. What will I do when I'm unable to deny everything anymore? The mockery of happiness and the raw truth of depression make me want to laugh whenever I hear Today by The Smashing Pumpkins. I love it. It's so perfect. It describes everything down to the last punctuation mark. Is he talking about his life or mine? I need to look in the mirror to see what I see. I hate looking in the mirror. I don't like what I see. Ever. I'm trapped in a body that I hate. A body that fills me with pure frustration, unbridled anger and complete disgust.
I can't believe that I have my throat tattooed. Artwork covers almost every part of my body. I remember when this was all just a fantasy. Having a bodysuit was something I'd dreamt about ever since I was a pre-teen. I turn my arms over, inspect my legs, caress my stomach. So many memories. So many people. So many places. All of this, everything is a part of my journey. My journey through life. Oh my God. Why have I done this? How is this possible? Will it ever come off me? Is this really MY body? I feel like I'm being dragged down into a rabbit hole of random thoughts and endless possibilities. It should be illegal to think like this.
Flashes of faces. People who were key in helping me to develop into the person I am today and I can't remember their names. It was so long ago. I think about all the things I watched as a child. Well, as many of the programmes as I could remember. Flashes of television stations from three different countries flash before my eyes. My cheeks flush. I'm thinking too hard. I can feel my blood, hot and sticky pounding in my ears. I shiver. An image of the show Doug pops into my head. What was once familiar and comforting is now horrifyingly scary. The green and blue faces on human bodies. I can't take it. It feels like my chest is going to crack open. I look out at the eerie grey sky. It doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right. I'm breathing heavy. It feels like I'm about to have a panic attack. I'm getting a sort of tunnel vision as the anxiety builds up in me. Before I know what's happening I'm on the floor crying. I'm kicking. I'm completely out of control. I can't grasp what's going on. The drugs clash with my upward mania swing and it's just a complete mess.
My hands caress his rib cage. From the soft chubb of his underarm down to his tender love handle. I want all of this to be mine. Gwen Stefani's high pitched, yet oddly pleasurable vocals on "Don't Speak" washes over us. I bite from your armpit all the way down to the upper top of his thigh. I want to tell him, "I know there is so much more to you than what I see." I want to be lost inside of him. I want to feel him move both below and above me.
I've always been nostalgic. (As if the blogs weren't enough to tell you that.) I've always loved the film Home Alone. It's just Christmas. Whenever I'm feeling really down, I can pop that sucker on and I start to perk up...Perk up. Oh, My God. Puffin. I want him to fuck me in the Home Alone kitchen. Hard and slow. His fingers wrapped around my throat from behind; him playing my oesophagus like a goddamn xylophone. "Harder, before Kevin's mum comes home! Make me a wet bandit baby." "You're the Harry to my Marv. If this orgasm doesn't rock your world you can smash me in the head with a shovel." Spread out against evergreen of the tile. Get on top of the counter. Up against it just doesn't do it. "Fucking ride me like Kevin rode that slide down the stairs." "I'll give you a rug burn you'll never forget!!" It's my turn to be on top. I grind my hips against his. His soft middle glistens with sweat; he's panting heavily from all the physical activity and I can't take it anymore. I push him onto his side and flip him over. "You've now boarded a non-stop flight to Paris. Thank you for flying American Airways."
I'm about to wreck the sheets when my sister opens the door, asking me what the hell I'm doing in here, she can hear me slamming into the wall every so often and it was annoying while she was in the shower. Thankfully, I'm under the duvet, so she doesn't see my hand down my jimjams. I pant that I'm fine, just ah, I think I've got a cold CUMMING on. She rolls her eyes, telling me I'm a horny moron and me moaning "Puffin!" was a dead giveaway to what I was really doing. She just wanted to see what lie I'd come up with if I'd stop when she came in and to see if I'd hurt myself in the throws of his chubb worship/90's fantasy. Thankfully she leaves so I can finish up. I collapse in a damp mess, feeling my desire for him oozing through me. My curls are a tangled mess, my scars are pink, flush from the rise in my temperature and all of my muscles are loose. (But not as loose as some of the girls I know.) I lay panting. I wish I could feel this good all the time. I know that I can't. I rarely ever feel alive these days. But when I'm high and an orgasm hits, it's the best experience ever.
Sometimes I think about the month of January. I'm not really sure it actually exists. Some years it passes in a flash and other times seems like an entire year itself. This has lead me to the conclusion that if January does exist, it does so on its own terms; it operates outside our understanding of reality. Sometimes I think about my understanding of reality and I have some serious questions.
Well, now thinking back about all this sober has me wondering what the absolute fuck. It would appear I got a little carried away with the gummies. I think I forgot how many I took. Kinda happens with these things, not so much with the chocolate because I know how many squares per bar. Either way, I had a good time with these. It's inspired me to write other things and develop new projects in the coming year. Maybe I'll feel better. I don't know.
Let's rate.
Taste: 5/10 they're kinda just like gelatin flavoured with a hint of fruit and marijuana. Not the best taste, but I don't care that much about taste as long as it fucks me up.
High: 10/10 this just really rocked my world. I had such an experience and I felt so amazing. I felt really well too. It may have been some of the best sleep of my life. Normally, I don't sleep all that well.
Will I try it again? Yeah, I think I will. Especially if they came out with new gummy flavours. I'd really be down to try them. Does your state have cool recreational edibles? Let me know! In 2020 I'm planning to get out there and try other dispensaries throughout the year, trying products, rating them and sharing the good times with all you guys.
Well, now thinking back about all this sober has me wondering what the absolute fuck. It would appear I got a little carried away with the gummies. I think I forgot how many I took. Kinda happens with these things, not so much with the chocolate because I know how many squares per bar. Either way, I had a good time with these. It's inspired me to write other things and develop new projects in the coming year. Maybe I'll feel better. I don't know.
Let's rate.
Taste: 5/10 they're kinda just like gelatin flavoured with a hint of fruit and marijuana. Not the best taste, but I don't care that much about taste as long as it fucks me up.
High: 10/10 this just really rocked my world. I had such an experience and I felt so amazing. I felt really well too. It may have been some of the best sleep of my life. Normally, I don't sleep all that well.
Will I try it again? Yeah, I think I will. Especially if they came out with new gummy flavours. I'd really be down to try them. Does your state have cool recreational edibles? Let me know! In 2020 I'm planning to get out there and try other dispensaries throughout the year, trying products, rating them and sharing the good times with all you guys.
THC 😍
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