There was a time in life when I couldn’t smoke pot because I had too many troubles. Instead of weed on the weekends, I preferred a six-pack of cheap beer because beer didn’t keep me awake when I fell exhausted into bed. There was never a night when I wasn’t exhausted, a mother of three children under six years old, who commuted two hours every day to a full-time job in Dallas, wife of a man…but this isn’t about marriage. It’s about hustling enough money to keep life rolling along. It was troubled times on an impossible budget that began with the necessities: gas, groceries, daycare so I could leave my children ten hours a day to pay other bills: rent, utilities, car repairs, etc. Even with what my husband contributed to the household; we were always short. Sometimes I floated myself a fifty-dollar loan midweek by cashing a hot check at a local grocery store, knowing when it bounced, it would cost me sixty-dollars to pick it up, but by then it would be payday.

It was troubled times and smoking pot before I went to bed set my hamster-wheel mind rolling, images of pencil on paper scratching figures, adding and subtracting, pay only half the rent to have enough for the electric bill before service got cut off; have to pay daycare, no questions asked; buy used tire for $15 at Mike’s before the bald one blows out; canned vegetables on sale at Value Mart, 4 cans for $1.00, 8 cans for the week, half of them whole green beans, only vegetable the middle kid would eat. I couldn’t stop worrying, it kept me awake, and I needed sleep to start over every morning.

It was troubled times and not sustainable long term, despite all of our blessings. We were young and healthy, and the kids were healthy save for the usual snotty noses and ear infections. We had extended families and friends who gave us clothes their kids had outgrown, and garden produce and venison. The grandparents made sure the kids had Christmas, and it wasn’t hard to make the kids happy. On a sunny afternoon in northeast Texas, all it took was a wading pool and a water hose. We were blessed, but I couldn’t smoke pot because my money worries wanted to drown me.

When I think of the younger self who gave up weed so she could sleep at night, I want to commend her for her perseverance in the face of so many variables beyond her immediate control. She was not perfect, and I don’t necessarily like her, but remembering her makes me feel kinder and gentler, especially toward young people across the generation gap who experience their own insomnia due to twenty-first century troubles.  

I know what keeps me awake these days…but this isn’t about [name the latest horrific disaster]. This is about smoking pot, and how much things have changed. Now that I’m older, smoking weed helps me sleep (and sometimes perk up in the morning). Thank goodness medical cannabis is legal in West Virginia. Small blessings these days. They’re what get me through the night.