There’s a phrase going around these days that I like a lot. ‘In my feelings’ matches up with what I’ve read about how other cultures express the experience of depression (I’m thinking of ‘I’ve got a sadness on me,’ from me Irish ancestors), as though emotions were jackets we take on and off, instead of using the ‘I am’ identifier. This is what living with depression is like. Sometimes, a lot of the time, your Gentleman wears contentment, an easy-going, pleasant disposition. But sometimes I need to shut the door, close the blinds, and Paint It Black, you know what I mean?
It’s been a rough couple of weeks ’round GTHQ, in case you hadn’t noticed. It’s the first Thanksgiving after my mom died. Did I mention I’m getting divorced? Yeah. I’ve been in my feelings more than The Walking Dead’s Alexandria survivors post-Neegan. It’s arguable which of us has dealt with more personal tragedy over the past year. Ok, my life isn’t exactly a zombie apocalypse, but they’re not real, and I might be (it’s entirely possible the world is a holographic simulation and if so, then My Controller’s Broken and I Wasn’t Really Trying, Anyway). I mean, poor Glenn SPOILER ALERT FOR NETFLIX SEASON-WAITERS probably should have died a while ago, but damn, gotta beat his brains in all graphic-like? I’m never going to see Jeffrey Dean Morgan the same way (he was the dad on Supernatural before lead psychopath of this season’s TWD and the way things go with the Winchester boys, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him back from Hell). And I hear Chandler Riggs is retiring from the show, so we can expect Carl to get bit or bite it soon, which is fine by me. I can’t wait until Rick stops acting like a little bitch.
Speaking of! The Gentleman would have waded in the murky Cimmerian seas of his gross, icky feelings further but for the cannabis samples the DC grower community has so generously gifted me this harvest season, like the OG Kush from Loud Lowe. I’ve been following his grow excitedly for months. He’s always posting beautiful, frosty pics of his soil-grown crop and I was ecstatic when he said the cure on one of my favorite strains was finished. The pretty buds are loose but well-structured, wonderfully manicured and shimmering with trichomes. The sour-pine aroma is pungent and just a dash sweet.
An easy, smooth smoke, Lowe and I seshed over a couple blunts in my old neighborhood. I barely coughed over the smooth Backwood as the conversation rolled. The heavy dose of his OG Kush had me feeling upbeat and socializing easily until my mental gears ground to a screeching halt and I ran brain-first into a big, blank wall. In my usual, smaller doses, these flowers still play big, bullying anxiety off the ball like Dallas’ offensive line but won’t leave you worn out like some fourth-quarter defense. Oops, too soon, Washington?
So if you’re in your feelings now, since y’all got whooped by America’s Team, or ‘Murica’s Team, depending on which Washington sport you follow, or you just have a case of post-turkey holiday gloom, I definitely recommend OG Kush. Especially if you can get your hands on some organically-grown goodness from DC’s upper echelon of Initiative 71 cultivators, like Loud Lowe. Make sure y’all Follow him on Instagram for more pretty DC cannabis photos.
And if you really want to commiserate about pointless, abject struggle, let’s talk about my fantasy team.