In the idea of self-betterment, which is what this whole thing was originally about, one must learn how to Love ones self. That’s the essence of all self-help books, in my opinion. In and of itself, that fact is something I might want to expand upon in the future, and how the prevalence of self-help and its billion-dollar industry among western culture is probably a big red flag.
Loving ones self includes racking off some things off that list stuffed way back in the brain that’s got all those “Man, this’d be fucking awesome to have one day” things scribbled on it. One slug on my list (and Gary’s, don’t let him fool you about this one either) is having stash spots hidden all around my house, one in each room or so, filled with joints I rolled myself. One such is a little figurine I keep in my bedroom with a hidden/fake base, that’s just the perfect size for ten or twelve fat baby fingers, and conveniently fits within bedroom decor. One day I will have this filled, and then one day I will somewhat reenact a scene from The Big Lebowski . Moreso the beginning and the general blocking of the scene, not so much the subject matter. The figurine sits on a shelf over the bed, so its in easy reach.
The first such joint goes in today, after I finish typing this out and go roll that bitch.