Through the Psilocybin Portal I Go

Whuuuuuuuuuuuuur. Hear that? It’s the gentle low-pitch hum of a dehumidifier fan, operating at 160F, drying 30 or so magic mushrooms I harvested from a plastic tub in my kitchen. The ambient noise of the fan plus birds singing in the early morning hours are insanely satisfying to write to. The subtle smell of drying mushrooms hits me when I enter the room to check on them. We’ll get back to this. For the record, I’m as sober as a judge. I have been for about 3 years. I hold nothing against marijuana, alcohol, or any other psychoactive compound of choice, nor do I have any past destructive relationships with them. It’s simply been a goal to REALLY observe who I am for a while, sans any considerable neurochemical or psychological influence. I’ve also never taken a psychedelic.