Canadian Wildfires Made Me An Edible Girly

Ok, so this is clickbait. I am not, in fact, edible. But I am a Canadian who partakes liberally in Canada's cannabis legalization. And right now, Canada is very much on fire. So much so, the smoke is wrangling New York City too.

Which admittedly, makes it harder to smoke weed.

I am not a weather-storian (I don't know the proper name and no, I don't feel like Googling it because as it turns out, cannabis edibles hit a little harder than expected.) (In other words, dear reader, I am currently too high to look it up. Bear with me.)

(Oh my God, I just remembered... I think the word is meteorologist?)

Ok so.

I am not a meteorologist. I am not even a science-y type person.

But I am a stoner.

And as a stoner, I have some observations about the weather.

First of all, holy crap the air smells bad. Like, totally acrid. Like burning plastic bad.

I started noticing it a couple of days ago when I stepped out for a smoke break while working at my local dispensary. Living in a rural town, I figured at first that the haze was from surrounding dirt roads. Haze from dirt roads looks different, though. It dissipates. It doesn't smell like melting chemicals.

Then, I heard the fire trucks.

Then, I turned on the news.

Over the next few days, the air became thicker and the world around me took on a slightly sepia tone. Something that was subtle, but could be terrifyingly easy to get used to until you barely noticed. Like leaving your phone brightness on "night shift" for a little too long. Or wearing those sunglasses that make everything look like scenes from old movies.

Secondly, no way am I inhaling that.

Natural, herby flower? Absolutely! Tobacco? Eh, on occasion. Nicotine? Begrudgingly, yes.

Unknown, boiling crayon-smelling sh*t?

Lastly, there is no way I'm not getting high today.

I don't sell weed, just to not enjoy it on my days off. Let's be honest with each other, here.

So, I braved on out, took advantage of my employee discount at the dispensary, and loaded up on edibles.

Usually, I don't really do edibles. I'm too impatient and I like the immediate, harsh effects of a good ol' bong rip. Er - water pipe.

That being said, I realized I would have to find a compromise since free-smoking in my dear mum's apartment simply isn't an option, and smoking outside? Well...

I admit, I did try to smoke a couple of bong hits outside. But the air tasted worse than when you keep the Bic going too long and inhale a mouthful of butane. Quickly, I decided it wasn’t worth it. Even the residue from a weed pen would be safer. I'm guessing.

Thus, the struggle to get high on my day off continues.

I open another pack of gummies. Hybrid instead of sativa this time. I don't need the extra paranoia.

(Everything is on fire! I'm anxious enough!)

I take a CBD capsule for good measure.

When I open up YouTube, at least 7 different versions of wildfire footage greet me. It feels irresponsible to click on the video about baby ducks instead.

But I do, anyway.

Meanwhile, the munchies are starting to kick in.

And all I have to munch on are edibles.

So naturally, I open up another pack of gummies. I don't even check what kind this time.

I attempt (and regret) another bong rip and chat with my neighbour for ten minutes. We share a joint and she tells me about the film of ash that layered her car that morning. I tell her about the edibles. She splits to the apartment upstairs, and I split to the basement one. I think about texting her to offer a gummy, but I've eaten them all.

When I try to freak out about the air to my mother she smiles and shakes her head. She primly takes a hit of my weed pen and shrugs, "What can you do?"

I try to think of something, but the edibles have finally taken their full effect, and nothing is particularly coming to mind. And honestly? My mother is probably right.

So I take a hit of my weed pen too, and we talk about her day at work. She tells me about the funny things her students at the nearby elementary school did, and how they had to keep the kids in at recess due to the air quality outside. She tells me about the eight-year-old boy she tutors after school and how much raw, excited energy he had; he didn't mind not going out for recess since his teacher said she planned a class pajama party the next day for them, instead.

Peace starts to wash over me. Smoke filled the skies across borders but here we all were: confused, a little anxious, trying to make the best of it anyway.

I let the gummies do their thing and I climb into bed. I fall asleep smiling at jokes on the internet.

The world burning can be a tomorrow problem.