Just received my first order of Little Green Pharma (LGP) Desert Flame THC 22 flower.
Other posts on here have shown bigger nugs. I'm new to cannabis and not an expert, but this cost me $270 from Astrid and I think I got a bad batch.
It's tiny, and also expires in Feb this year! Is that in itself an issue? I won't use it all in a month. I tried it today to help with my adhd and anxiety and PMS depression and all it did was cause me to be super forgetful (I've already got short term memory loss from my adhd), kinda numb, no euphoria, kinda like a zombie. I was really counting on this to become a daytime strain I can use to replace my Ritalin.
Would a daytime strain have to be a Sativa? I'm beginning to think Sativa or at least Sativa dominant strains do not agree with me as I've also tried Lemenos and it made me anxious.
Can anyone recommend be a daytime strain for adhd, anxiety, stress, and concentration? A stimulant replacement.
So far my favourite and only successful weed is Cannatrek T20 Daylesford Relax. That is my saviour. Less anxiety, euphoria, relaxed, sleep amazing, get clarity in my racing mind and helps me work through my issues with a more stable perspective as my brain is blanketed with anxious racing thoughts that can't often see through the fog to a balanced opinion on anything.
Is there a daytime strain similar to T20 Daylesford Relax? But with the added benefit of focus and euphoric stimulant effects but not increased anxiety? https://imgur.com/Zp6MnyH.jpg
So each artifact in the pale flame set corresponds to a Fatui. We also know that the description of each artifact reveals something vital about their corresponding harbinger.
For example, the surpassing cup, which most likely refers to Scaramouche, says this:
An intricately-made cup. Its appearance betrays nothing of its age to an observer.
Just like Scaramouche, it looks unnaturally young. This artifact revealed that Scaramouche does not age regularly. This was way before we knew he was a puppet.
Now if we apply this to Signora's corresponding artifact we learn that there may be some hope left.
The Stainless Bloom reads this: A hard, blue artificial flower. Its petals shall never wither, nor shall its colors fade.
The use of the phrase "shall never wither" leads me to believe that Signora will return eventually. It sounds like she has some source of everlasting life.
To further reinforce this theory, we can take a look at some artifacts from the CWoF (Who we know is Signora) set.
Its eternal flame burns hot.
The fire in the urn burns eternally, as did its former master.
They mention that both the witch and her flames burn eternally. This must mean that Signora is still alive (or at least in purgatory) , for she burns eternally.
Plus, I don't think Mihoyo would give up the chance to make money off of such a popular character.
I'll bet you weren't expecting this, huh? Huh?? I felt feisty today. Having free time is the best.
Sincerest apologies to those of you reading this on mobile, I'm giving a whole new definition to "wall of text". Also just realized that my first few reviews have been archived. That's depressing, man.
Exquisite Luck- 2/10
It’s sort of funny that this suit’s so ugly, I can barely constitute it a welfare. In fact, as I was desperately searching for some Maiden stages to farm (missing out on all of my lifetimes, ugh) and wearing my index finger down to a nub, what with how many ‘done 1’s I had to press, and wasting all of my starcoins on a suit I didn’t remotely care about, unless it was an opinion of hatred… as I was doing all of that, I began to wonder, “Why even bother?” And then I kept crafting, for the sweet, sweet wardrobe count, and because I could. Well, fun fact! As soon as I could wipe my hands clean about that event, I forgot all about Exquisite Luck, and I hope things stay that way. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll find a use for the arm pose, but… look, cultural significance or whatever, the art is old. And
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HONEYHOLT, The Reach, 5th Month 91 AD
(cw: child death)
Thwack!
The sound of her tourney sword hitting the dummy resounded through the courtyard.
Thwack!
Again and again, she struck - once, the dummy had a crude face painted onto it, but naught remained of it now. There was no finesse in her strikes today, no agility, no skill. Just ferocity and anger, channelled from the fixed expression on her face onto a poor, hapless, dummy. There was no shame about what she was doing, no attempt to hide her true self from the court of Honeyholt, which would never be her true home anyway.
Thwack!
She panted, sweaty from the exertion, her face red as a beet, but anything was better than being trapped in that room, hearing her darling boy wailing, the gray rat rushing around, assuring her that all would be well, even as she saw the worried expression on his face. And worst of all, the watching and the waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, unable to do anything but pray to the Mother whose rules she had so often spurned that the maester’s honeyed words would prove true - that all would be well. Sitting there, as helpless as she’d been when her father’s body was taken before her.
Thwack!
Her amber hair was falling down in ringlets when she heard the sounds of someone behind her - a page, who looked terrified. I must look like a madwoman. The boy opened his mouth, but it was as if she was hearing the words from beneath a wide river, muffled, unreal.
“Myles,” she heard him say, and reality came crashing back. Her son was — no, no it couldn’t be. Her tourney sword clattered to the floor, and she sprinted, as if carried by the wind, up the stairs to the room of death. Shoving the maester to the ground, she grabbed the bundle of blankets that was her child, held it to her chest, and felt — nothing. No little heart struggled for life beneath the folds. No ragged breaths, no wails or cries came from his blue lips.
He was dead.
“Princess Victaria,” she heard the maester say, getting unsteadily to his feet, but he was a thousand miles away. She looked down at the lifeless form, and a name left her lips.
“William,” she uttered.
“I beg your pardon?” asked the maester.
“Where is my husband?” she demanded. How, how could this have happened? Was it the maester, had he cared too little for her child’s well-being? Or, was it her? Spending so much time conspiring to leave Honeyholt, to leave her family, to leave the castle where no one could be trusted, being
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