I can barely remember back when marijuana in any form was illegal. It was always that peculiar mixture of excitement and fear whenever I would score a joint of the grass. That was back in my high school and wild days, and since I have laid off the pot for a bit, I have some mixed feelings that have become an ingrained space of my psyche that will always be with me. I suppose that’s why I was thinking those exact things the other day when a marijuana delivery service showed up at my buddy’s home while I was over hanging out. My buddy has Fibromyalgia, and since medical cannabis has become allowed in our state he has had a delivery truck bring some gnarly type of purple haze over to him. I suppose it was sort of peculiar that a big rush of fear overtook me thinking that my reasoning was telling me about the transaction, but I just could not get rid of that feeling that something terrible was right about to happen to us. Of course, everything was all fine and dandy and the marijuana delivery person made the trip and drove off just as if they were getting a package from Amazon. I am glad that this type of thing exists and that medical marijuana is allowed for my friend’s sake; because my buddy was suffering without it and those opiates are not a actually a good way to mitigate pain given their possibility to get people addicted.