Last night I dreamt that my very conservative mother who is very against marijuana in all cases decided to become a licensed medical marijuana grower for some extra cash. We still lived in San José, and she had inherited a house with a good-sized yard a few blocks down from our actual house. She decided to turn the new house into a clinic and grow the cannabis in the tightly fenced backyard.
"The only problem," she said, looking over the carpet of pink banana squash currently growing behind the house, "will be the stank. People will complain about the stank."
"Um, is stank the technical term?" I asked.
"Of course," she shrugged, as if I was sooooo square. "Maybe we could grow something fragrant, like lavender, around the edges."
"Um," I said. Then I thought of something else as I cleaned the curtains in the house—can you be licensed to grow medical marijuana if you don't have a prescription for it yourself? I decided that probably if someone could prove through regular drug tests that he or she wasn't personally smoking it, it would be fine. Then I was worried that being exposed to the growing plants would make my mom and I fail drug tests. (I don't really know how marijuana works.)
The worst part was that I had no job, so my mom recruited me to run the marijuana business for her. I'm not even sure how I feel about medical marijuana, but I know growing it, even legally, is major risky. I had to harvest mountains of pink banana squash so we could get to the ground, my mom went to the Department of Medical Marijuana (obviously I have no idea what this is actually called) to get a license and some seeds, and then I woke up.
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