Poncho

Journal prompt: Describe your current mood.

Stoned. Not profoundly, not to the point of confusion or paranoia. Just kinda stoned, happy stoned, ready to crawl into bed. I took half an edible and I ate a bowl of red lentils and drank some hot cacao that’s made with powdered mushrooms, and I roamed around the rooms downstairs checking on my plants. If the previous sentence has the whiff of patchouli, that’s probably because I’m going through an earth-mother phase—letting my hair grow out, eating roots and legumes and lettuce leaves, crocheting blankets for unsuspecting babies. I’ve stopped wearing mascara. Went back to bell bottoms. I own three ponchos, and one of them has a hood.

I wasn’t always a hippy chick, so it’s hard to know whether this current incarnation is the result of natural growth or a reaction to the plasticky world in which we live. Is it possible to be real and also contrived? Can we ever really know how the pieces of us came together? Can we reverse-engineer our personas and end up someplace else?

Sometimes I feel I’ve spent my whole life trying to decide who I am.