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Papi ruined my high/low.

For days all I wanted to do was light up. It wasn't dank. I stuck my nose in the bag and cursed Sug for the weed he got me that was as mild smelling as oregano. I rolled up a tight one. I still had it. I photographed the blunt and sent the pic to Sug. He responded with a thumbs up.

I sat twenty minutes staring at the blank TV screen before I knew what I was doing. I was high out of this world.

I attempted to cry because I thought that it would relieve some tension in my body.The smoke had been unsuccessful in that respect. I was thinking too much. I needed a good old-fashioned cry. I hadn't cried yet through all of this. I frowned my face, constricted my body. I strained.

One forced tear.

Then my phone rang, it was Papi. We hadn't spoken in days. I wanted to take the call desperately but was annoyed he interrupted my cry. I was so fucking high I couldn't string a clear thought together. I couldn't defend myself during his monologue. It was the absolute wrong time to try and redeem myself.

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