I’m still grumbling to myself on the way out of R. Greenleaf. The dispensary was great—one of the few located on the West Side—but the incredibly streamlined new-patient registration process and easy-to-talk-to budtender made the whole thing last about five minutes, meaning I didn’t have time to cool off the bad attitude I’d walked in with.I was having one of those awful thought loops, where my brain won’t just shut up and let go of whatever I’m holding onto. Should’ve said this or that. Who does that jackass think he is? This sort of thing looks and sounds like anger, but at the root is a simple hurt feeling—and that step from rage to depression that we’ve all experienced makes a bit more sense in that context. But it’s way easier to push that thought back and let loose those sexy anger chemicals in your brain than to deal with your wimpy, weepy side. In my car on the drive home, I don’t even consider any alternate narratives from: “Hero gets victimized by evil villain. Should’ve said this or that. Who does that jackass think he is? Should’ve. Jackass. Villain.” So gross, but you know how it goes. Blow the steam out, toss it over your shoulder when you’re done and move on.But this time is different. I just can’t dodge it. I sit down and pack a bowl of Amnesia (THC: 21.21%, CBD: 0.17%—$12/gram) while the loop keeps playing. I’m so distracted that I don’t really pay attention to the fluffy green bud, and the scent—bright and fruity—only registers subconsciously. I’m in the middle of silently spewing a particularly nasty four-letter-word when the taste momentarily pulls me out, like strawberry candy on the inhale, and gardenia across the palate on the exhale.Amnesia is a powerful sativa-dominant strain, and I can feel a tingly sensation creeping up my scalp as it kicks in with the first hit. There’s a certain dichotomy between sativa and indica espoused by most patients and retailers that I find misleading: the sativa gets you “up,” and indica gets you “down.” Amnesia is the perfect example of why talking about it as an “upper” is disingenuous.By the end of the bowl, I’m already starting to slough off my crappy mood, focusing instead on how tasty this weed is. I step out onto my porch and sit down, breathing deeply and watching hummingbirds fight over the feeder. It has four spots to drink from, and if the dummies would learn to share, they could all have some. Bird brains.I laugh and realize that that dope is kicking in, all right. I’m not feeling jittery or twitchy (things I would associate with stimulants), instead, I consciously watch as my hurt feelings float away, adrift on a smoky breeze. The problem is still there, but I don’t feel like I’m really a part of it anymore. I can step back and see the shape of things without getting too fired up.The rest of the evening is easy. I cook dinner, humming to myself and serve it alongside a mighty helping of terrible dad jokes. “ ‘Jumbo shrimp?’ Those two words don’t make no sense. One of them—whatchacallit—oxy-maroons.”After the meal, I put on a New Pornographers record and fire up the indica strain I picked out (purely due to its name) called Holy Grail (THC: 21.45%, CBD: 0.26%—$12/gram). Within moments of the first hit, I forget the pipe is even in my hands anymore. I sink back, my body seemingly disappearing in a cottony haze. My eyes droop and stop reporting visual stimulus with the same intensity that they usually do. I drift off to the music, feelings of euphoria hold me up before I fall asleep on the couch, pipe still in hand and half full.
R. Greenleaf5201 Ouray NW, Ste E(505) 200-9060Hours: Mon-Fri 10am-6pm, Sat and Sun 11am-4pmFirst-time Freebies: Yes
