Fairly baked, mostly baked, 50% baked on Trop Z and white wine. Ready to burn another something or other but that just means the Trop Z is working. I gotta let it run a bit.
This Trop Z I smoked was pretty old. It’s almost Christmas and I opened this jar here in Tucson/Catalina Foothills back in March! But it was still tasty, with that orange rubber and menthol flavor. Score another win for some of the older flower. I already wrote a review of Tropical Z for this site (link here) but this last bit has kept so well (in the desert) and it still delivers a lift so I’m going to do a curtain call, an encore, a Trop Z Redux.
It was my first smoke of the day, after dinner. 7 pm! Too late in the day for first smoke but it’s the holidays and we’re out here visiting my in-laws. There’s too much else going on to slip away, burn one, and come back to the Family all blazed. I also had some items on my to-do list for the day. I wanted to roll a dozen joints, and did. Some are for stuffing stockings, some are for taking back. I have been going through some of the older items in inventory, ready to close some positions out for the end of the year.
I wore though another joint roller ribbon/belt. I’m not sure what you call these parts of the roller. They are like a sheet that has been hot-pressed together at one end so it forms the loop. But eventually that seal (seam) starts to tear and when that happens, you’re done, toast, out of business, kaput.
Just before we left home the sheet on the joint roller I use at home tore in the same fashion. I knew I had a spare/backup sheet/ribbon here so when we arrived I grabbed that one and packed it for the return drive. Not so fast, my friend! I could probably take an iron to them when they bust at the seam and reseal it, with heat. But I need to move on, it’s time to move on, time to get going, what lies ahead I have know way of knowin, but under my feet babe, yeah, the grass is growin…
Still kinda baked on the Trop Z. My first review noted that this strain had carry. And that is still true today, nine months later. Small humans have been conceived and born into this world since this jar was open, left in the desert, returned to two seasons later, and it still tastes good, and it still hits. Feeling a haiku coming on
Breezy. Maybe
I’ll just finish
off that wine
I don’t hold myself to the pedantic 5-7-5 syllable scheme for haiku. It’s not about syllables. It’s about feel. None of the excellent haiku from the really old Japanese or Chinese poets adheres to 5-7-5 anyway, so why fuss with it?
The Trop Z carries again. It’s 20:36. I smoked an hour and a half ago and I’m riding a nice thermal. The screen door is still availed. Open, opted for, in place. Only problem is the food I ate seems to want to come back up. I can’t eat as much as I used to, especially later in the day. I don’t seem to process it quickly enough. There’s a bottleneck in there somewhere.
Scratch that pen to paper. Neighbor’s car grinds into driveway gravel. Slow to arrive, slow to leave. The desert evening finds its voice. The wind then hushes. Nothing is moving. The dark is quiet again. Long live Trop Z!
Weeds of Grass 