Got a nice date with my bong today. It is surprisingly cool up north, and the sun is shining. I rarely take my bong out of its shrine but I will clean it, pack it up, and hit some trails with whatever is left of my quarter ounce from last night. I got two strains to mix bowls with and get high as fuck. Now there is a good date today for a fuckin hippie pothead fuck.
Had a sick yoga class earlier it was amazing. The concentration, body awareness and balance are really fun to me and I am getting in damn good shape, that was my 20th class this year. I packed massive bowls before and after, and took a good amount of etiz, got some alprazolam which I strongly prefer too. It was really fun, and healthy.
Better get out in the sun. It's just 3 in the afternoon and the sun is already setting. It won't be warm like that for long. I'd like to not wear a winter coat since it will end up permeated by pot.
Failed goals cashed bowls, it's how it goes, I've been told. Encouraged into a plastic fucking mold. Some bold, others cold, many stagnant to the point of rotten mold. Broken bones, in the toes. Unable to let go, taking a step behind is a no. Since you've sunk, as far as there is to go. How did you not know? The coke the blow the yeyo, along with that hydro. Satisfaction isn't enough of a distraction. The hustle carries on, time to rip the bong. How long, until I find myself singing the same dreadful song. Better live like Tommy Chong, while there's fire chron and my bong to rip life long.