I remember telling my therapist that I was going to start growing and selling weed on my own, and I needed her assistance in making sure I wasn’t too crazy. I was burnt out on corporate life, the kids had grown up and moved out, and I desperately needed to make some major life changes. She was a best therapist I ever had.
I obtained my medical card and started growing cannabis for myself, dispensaries, friends and family. I don’t make a lot of money, about a third of my venture capitalist days, but I love it. Growing weed is like having a baby — you want to nurture, but not smother; encourage, but don’t stress. The result – beautiful blossoms for everyone to enjoy.
This garden basement used to store kid toys and house family fun time. There’s a grape juice stain under the thick layer of visqueen covering the old carpeted floor. Heavy duty light rails replace the hook that held kids’ piñatas at birthday parties. Styrofoam and more visqueen cover the basement windows, keeping the natural light in and out. My Mormon neighbors would be horrified.
Most of my mmj dispensary clients are planning to become 502 retail stores. If I want to continue working with them, I will have to get a growers permit ($250), find a location ($$$), find some money to get started (check the sofa cushions!) and apply before December 19, 2013. If not, I may never be able to legally grow in the State of Washington.
What about my friends in need? Are they going to stop calling when the Weed Emporium opens next spring? Will my vivacious personality, home delivery and weed quality set me apart from a new retail store? Well, with only 21 pot shops in Seattle, I may not see any difference in business for a while. I’m sure that will change. And hopefully home grows for medical use will be allowed. Time will tell.
I suppose I could give it all up — brush off my business skirt, and join a regular weed business, one with less risk and more money. I could transform the play room-turned-bud room into a home office with a nice desk and stacked bookshelves, pull down the Styrofoam and let the light in. But that would require me giving up my mornings of luxury under 4,000 watts of bright light and humming cooling fans; making my own schedule, and lunch with friends…
Oh, what’s a girl to do?