I grow ganja, bru...Growing ganja is an art - an art that even people shit at art can do.
It takes a special kind of craft - one of binding yourself to another life, to try to make for it the best form of life.
Its a neurotics therapy and I am extremely neurotic - but when I have a grow going and have time to sit and have a joint with my plants, I am not anxious anymore and my negativity and obsessiveness is absorbed there. It's my point of entry to a secret life filled with clandestine projects, experiments, adventures and even anonymous encounters...beautifully seditious pleasures (will I lose that when its legal for reaI?). There is also always something new to learn, or an idea I want to try to implement (the next time round). And I am always getting better. Wiser even - because I am learning the limits of my control over the grow.
But I also complain about my grow all the time. Bitch! the truth is I hate my grow, and I wish that fucking thing would get done already... It is a trap binding me to a place - "be there everyday". A labour of obligation that is never done. The promise of more that will only pay out in full the next time around. An obsession that costs and now a different source of anxiety (because who knows when the cops are going to come knocking on the door (again)). Then it happens...a broken cola, an infestation, lockout... and my grow breaks my heart.
I want nothing to do with this bitch...
So I am done (almost). The grow will soon be chopped...but like a junkie jonesing for a needle, all I can think about is which girls are going under my new 1000w Gavita next, and which system will be crafted to nurture them through my training. But I am taking my time and testing the patience of my still fulll jars. I'm not going to overdose. Not again.