For me, mentally surviving this pandemic has been all about the smells. And weed. Maybe it has something to do with the sticky, funky, diesel-y, smoky stank of weed flower. Or the fact that my ability to smell means I probably don't have COVID. Either way, I can't stop buying shit to burn and sniff while stoned during this pandemic.

At the start of the stay-at-home orders, being confined primarily to my bedroom (and being furloughed) made me keenly aware of: my own smell, the smell of my room, what I thought my room should smell like, and what I could do to make my room smell different. It goes without saying that I was perma-stoned throughout most of this—puffing on a cheeky joint or getting popcorn lung from my favorite vape.

With nothing better to do, I've embarked on a smell journey over the past year to find the best pairing of weed and scents. Here's some of what I found:

I picked up two or three of these boxes while getting gas in the Central District. I loved the idea of getting my incense from the gas station, as if it's an essential good like milk, condoms, or Hot Cheetos. When I got home, I promptly lit one of the rose-scented babies up and started to suck on my vape pen.

As I got higher and higher, the weed paranoia set in. *suck* Why was I allowing myself to sit in a smoky room? *suck* What was I doing lighting incense, with no windows open *suck* DURING A PANDEMIC!?!??!?!??!?!?? *suck* Doesn't smoke scratch up your lungs?

I was convinced I would die by incense smoke, not considering that my lungs were filled with weed smoke.

I didn't die, but I did stab the stick out and open a window, gasping for fresh air.

I usually sail past the candle section at the grocery store, but the section became a regular stop for me over the past few months. As someone who gets stoned before grocery shopping (yes, it's stressful, yes, I don't know what's wrong with me), I love ritualistically blocking the aisle with my giant cart, carefully deciding which candle jar I'll touch, sniff through my mask, and take home.

On one stoned grocery trip, I tossed an on-sale-for-$10 candle into my cart, excited for the peony smells to mix with the smoke from my favorite pre-roll in my bedroom.

However.

After lighting the candle, puffing a bit on my joint, and trying to float off while watching a Gregg Araki movie, I felt ILL. Being high, I thought it was COVID. But I could still smell the sickly sweet candle, so I figured that wasn't it. Only when I blew the candle out did I connect that cheap-ish scent to my pounding headache.

Fucking Instagram ads got us here. I used some of my last Trump Bux to buy two $32 candles from Boy Smells I saw advertised online, believing I was the height of excess.

The balance of sandalwood and clay, kush and white amber, is heady but not overpowering and the right companion scent for weed smoking. I delighted in toking on my boobie bowl, cleaning my room, while one of these candles burned in the background. I soon became an annoying candle person, gifting different scents from this company to different friends, like some insistent PR person giving free samples.

Throughout this journey of smells, I found solace in the way that scent can transform a space, especially one that I've spent so much time in during the pandemic. I've moved furniture around, gotten rid of things, placed some plants in the window, but lighting a nice candle or getting a whiff of incense brings me to a heightened state of being in my room. It makes the daily slog of news a bit more bearable. But maybe that's just the weed talking.

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