Grown Woman by Jen Luerssen

Author:Jen Luerssen [Luerssen, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Grown Woman
Publisher: Luerssen Person
Published: 2017-07-17T22:00:00+00:00

Yeah, so I ate a brownie that people would usually share amongst four or five friends. I am going to be high out of my fucking mind in about a half an hour. Margo asks me if I want to lie down in the guest room and I turn her down, knowing that I have to get the eff out of here before this thing kicks in. I can tell she feels awful. Recently, she told me a story about her husband leaving a brownie out in their hotel room on a family trip and she thought it was complimentary from the hotel. Needless to say, she was sequestered in the room and could only stare at the ceiling or watch Food network. She is getting my predicament right now and is kind enough to not laugh her ass off at me.

Walking down their street to the bus, I’m realizing that most likely I’m going to be on the bus when my mind reaches its full altered state. I’m just hoping I can make it to the second bus safely. History tells me that I am a drooling catatonic after I eat edible marijuana. A few years ago, we all took a trip to the Russian River to float down on inner tubes on the 4th of July. I ate a small cookie before we left for the float and by the time we got there I was so wasted that they had to tie me to the canoe so I wouldn’t float away.

I’m on the 38 Geary bus and am only two stops away from the safety of my home. Everyone on this bus is staring at me and they all know I’m high as fuck. My whole body feels like it belongs to someone else. I stand in front of the back door even though it’s not my stop yet because I’m afraid I’ll miss it. I may have been standing here at the back door for the past 12 stops, whatever, I am not missing my stop.

I miss my stop, by one, but I got distracted by my fingernails. Fingernails are weird little tools. Plus, mine are dark red and sparkly but chipped. Dark red nails that are chipped look tacky. I make it to the front door to my apartment and it takes about three hours to find my keys. Once I make it inside, I strip out of my clothes, put on leggings and a big comfy shirt and sit on the couch gripping my phone. Someone needs to know about my problem. Is it a problem? Not as bad now that I’m home but what if something bad happens like a car runs into the building. This is a thought that is currently running on a loop, a little old lady driving her big Cadillac into the side of our building. I know, it seems unlikely, but is it?

I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts. I mistakenly call and then hang up on my former boss from the library, my dentist’s office and Dean.

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