Chapter 2 - Kimberley

[Link to Chapter 1 (Previous Chapter)]

“How was therapy?” Leah asks, as she saunters inside, kicking her shoes off into the gigantic pile of women’s footwear that has accumulated by her front door.

One of the greatest holdovers from the Covid-19 pandemic is the ability to talk to a therapist remotely and still have that count for court and insurance purposes. You can log an entire hour on camera, all while in your underwear from the waist-down. I’m still wearing pants.

You can also already have two shots of vodka and a 25 milligram THC gummy in your system before your session begins. So by the time you’re done, you’re feeling pretty great.

Even better, you don’t actually have to be home to attend therapy. You can be at your girlfriend’s apartment.

“Hello to you, too,” I respond.

A personal question like Leah’s would usually annoy me, but I’ve hit the arc in my nightly THC journey where everything feels nostalgic and reminds me of the 80s. Makes sense. I just finished telling a story about my childhood to another nosy person.

Therapy dredges up the past, then THC makes me want to live there.