9 Minutes & 40 Seconds

So I’m driving to the dispensary to get, well, you see the 9 minutes up above.

In my head, I’m going back and forth with myself.

I don’t want to smoke. I could stop this car and turn around. I want to.
I need to change my story. This isn’t it, and it’s tearing me apart. Wow. I’ve been ignoring how much I hurt, deep in my chest.
I can taste the ash that fills my lungs. I’m conscious of it and know I have to change.

‘I can’t believe I’m never going to smoke the other half of this’ I think, as I stub out half of a 1G pre-roll.

I was reading my earlier posts and found myself smiling. I know how I sound to myself, and I worry that I won’t properly convey how it feels / thinks / tastes / smells like to be me. I ask everyone I know so many questions, and talk so much because I want to know what it’s like to be them.
How does it feel to wake up? What’s the first thing on your mind?
Where do you glow when you think about love?
Does it make your toes curl when the food is right on the cusp of giving you blisters?

What do you notice? What do you see?
What’s the first thing you notice, bluejay or tree?
Do you admire brown crags that roughen up bark?
Do you see sunlight that flashes needles through leaves?
Do you see cobblestones, treasures in the cracks
Are you looking at other people, moving in social packs
Do you feel wind on your skin, coaxing you out from within?

I start to get critical of the above rhyming bit. At first, it really flowed out without any coaxing. At what point did I stop and start questioning myself?
Should I?

I’m playing fast and loose with the formatting in this, so I wonder if it’s An Actual Fucking Nightmare™ to read on mobile.
Or for anyone reading it on whatever they’re reading.
This is what it’s like. This is how my brain be workin.
Even when I don’t have duties I’m actively shirkin.
This motherfucker rhyme workin and shirkin?
Beat him ass with a mothafuckin gherkin.
You know I’m sittin here, goof ass smirkin.
Have a conversation and sly ass joke lurkin.

Ok that one did get away a bit. Sorry about that, oh, you can be certain.
You thought I was done? Thought for jokes I was hurtin?

Ok seriously let’s get ahold of myself. Sorry. No, not sorry. This is how it is.

Wooden house fuckin nailed to a tree.
I’m a lucky motha bird someone made it for me.
Peep my head out, I got straw bustin out the cracks.
chickies inside peepin they want some fuckin snacks.

Young bird taking flight doin this shit all night
If you thought I was wrong then you’d be fuckin right.
I learned how to love and I learned how to cry.
I learned how to fall, now I’m learning how to fly.

Catch me out the nest and it’s feathers face time
bobbin when I walk, ay I’m weavin when I rhyme.
branch branch flap hunt among the weeds
I grind all day gettin worms n fuckin seeds

Gotta say.
That was pretty fun.

Where the fuck was I?

Ok, hang on.

OH. So I’m sitting at the stoplight, arguing with myself.
Go home. You don’t want this. You want to quit. Stop the car. I was doing so good. I had two days.
Then, Eye Of The Tiger comes on the radio.
Are you fuckin kidding me? I think to myself. Am I in a montage? Is this real?

So, I turn around in the parking lot and drive home, slamming to the tasty guitar licks of no I didn’t do that.
I thought about that reality, I wanted that reality.
Then the light turned green and off I went.

Ok. I get it.
How many times have I said that?
Wow.
I’m trying to very mindfully sit upright with better posture. My normal posture is… not this.
It’s a bit more like… Hmm…

Lean in over your keyboard, press your chest to your fingeeraj;’ijf;eda’;nealkdsnvc’sansdv

and then, start to sit up, once you hit the point that your eyes are directly over the bottom of your keyboard, stop.
Now, twist your spine a little so you’re leaning into your dominant arm.
So, like that. That’s been my posture.

Where the fuck did I get that? Oh, right, and tuck your legs/feet back so you’re poised on the tips of your toes.
Damn, I’m ready to RUN. So tense.
Sheesh. Shoulders hunched, neck tense.
So lost in your mind you feel like you’re dense.

Shallow, shallow breaths. Always leaning on something, forward, left right. Weight poised in one point, leaned into the ball of the foot, sides, toes, heels shit I don’t discriminate.
How uncomfortable. I can’t stay still and maintain the posture / form. I get distracted by something and my body stops performing if I’m not actively focused on it.

Every little movement and action takes so much thought oh my god what if the reason is because my mind is using all my processing power for movement and focus to worry about shit. Seems like it could be a valid theory wow keys are so much fun to type on when you are conscious of every little move. Seriously. At first, it was a bit like suddenly being aware of your tongue in your mouth. Conscious breathing. All those things that get put on autopilot so we can use our brains for other things that we think deserve more of our attention. The only thing that deserves attention is the thing or things that matter the most to you.

Why do I give all my attention to things that don’t matter? Good question. I often wonder if it’s because then I’d have to worry about all the things that do matter.
Would that be so bad?
You know? It doesn’t sound so bad.
I’m going to try that out.
Stay here, in my body.
Not lost in thought.



I’m going to smoke the other half of that J.
But, you know what?
I love myself anyway. I know what I’ve got going on.
Eventually, you will too. I plan on opening up and sharing it with you.
That’s what I know I want to do.

Thank you for letting me?
Thank you for reading it?
Listening?

Thank you. Thank you for being you.

Let’s start with first names.

My name is Drew.

Maybe, someday, I’ll get to meet you.

55 Minutes.

15 Seconds.

Why is this always, what I do?
Take out always.
This is what I am doing right now.
This is not what I always do.

You have to write the story.
Elsewise, the story writes you.