“Everybody has problems, right? I'm not the only one, right? Nobody shows them, though. I know I can't. I don't know anyone who does. Why would anyone care what my problems are? They've got their own. Is it narcissistic of me? To thrust my problems onto someone else? That's not what I want, to be narcissistic. I want to be normal, better at least.”

“I don't remember when I first found out that weed exists, much less my first time trying it, but what I do know is that I need it. Not according to my friends, though. They think it's bad for me. They say it could kill me if I do too much. But to much isn't enough. I'm not addicted, am I? No. I can stop if I want to. But I don't want to. Is it bad that I don't want to stop? No. I need it to feel better. And if you need something to feel better, why stop? I'm not addicted, just... heavily reliant. Yeah, that's a good term.”

“I get up, shower, brush my teeth and fur, the usual. I also take a hit off my today's blunt. I've gotten into a rhythm where I can make one blunt last a whole day without being sober. My friends say if I put this much thought anywhere else in my life I'd be doing better. I have to work today so I grab my uniform hat and head out. As I walk down the streets, I feel nervous. I think to myself, "do they know I'm high? Do I look stupid? Do they hate me?" I don't know why I always think these things. I turn the corner and head into work. I steel myself for the day ahead. I really don't want to work today.”

“I hate work. I really hate dealing with my coworkers all the time. They're always so judgmental and they always pry. They ask, "what have you been up to? Done anything interesting?" That's kind of stuff. I do my best to be normal. I nod, smile, and answer their questions like I actually care. I don't care. All I care about these days is weed, sleep and Jasper. Jasper, my best friend and crush, is what gets me through the work day, him and weed. The thought of his eyes and his fur and his voice makes me motivated enough to stay composed at work.”

“Hours later, around 1 o'clock in the afternoon, I finally clock out for the day. I grab a drink and start the journey home. Today was alright, I guess. I don't really like heading back to my apartment, it means I have to eat ramen. All I ever eat nowadays is ramen, it's all I can afford. I arrive home and lie on my couch. I don't have a bed, I can't afford one, nor do I see a point in buying one if I have a couch. I get a text from Samantha, a good friend of mine. The text reads, "Yo, you wanna hang out with us tonight?" I really don't want to. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to hang out, and I probably should, but I'm way too tired. Plus, I still have the rest of this blunt to smoke.”