After kicking scripts outta my medicine cabinet, my tea cabinet kicked its game up a notch.

Specifically, it took on a life of its own for the past five and a half months.

It started out simply enough: some chamomile, the seasonal pumpkins, peppermints, and chai. Then, as my newfound unsullied senses began to heighten, I found myself rediscovering the tea aisle of Wegmans all over again. I was just strolling on by one day, when WHAM! My olfactory bulb received the cinnamon and rose notes like a Camp Crystal Lake tree receives a sack of campers on Friday 13th.

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No joke, I was a tabby ensconced in catnip every time I passed by. A woman with a possessed proboscis. I’d get funny looks from some patrons who saw my overflowing cart, while others would assume I was some sort of aficionado and make the mistake of asking me for advice. Never ask an insecure egomaniac for advice. They aren’t beneath finding validation under fluorescent lighting of the supermarket’s herbal remedy section. Their IQ could be the square root of mashed potato, and they’re still gonna give you an eloquent sounding answer – pursed lips, furrowed brow, and all. “Now, if you try this tea, you’ll get all of those subtle notes of the other manufacturer’s product – but somehow it’s not quite the same. Doesn’t have that JUH-NUH-SAY-KWAAAH to it. However, this one over here will contrarily accomplish both efficiently. That said, it may leave you a slight migraine in the morning…” (meanwhile, I’m picking up boxes of tampons and gesturing like a pedantic politician at it with the cadence of a news anchor).

I’m slowly learning the art of simplicity: “I dunno… But this one helps me.”

Without the help of a clueless stranger to guide me, I went for varieties at first. And by variety, I mean twelve of everything.

Then I started finding that I just wanted to believe something external could make me feel a feel, ‘cause a lotta them promise enlightenment, kundalini awakenings, and the arrival of puppy dog unicorn chimeras bearing brain rainbows for you.

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Thus, I guess I figured that when they fail to deliver union with the cosmos on a silver platter, I’ll at least fall somewhere halfway between as I shoot for a lunar landmark and at settle for landing amongst the stars of ephemeral serenity.

Some of them deliver what they pledge to almost too well, on the contrary.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I tried Kava the first time. But as my grip on reality started to tune suddenly to some sorta dull underground earthworm frequency, I wondered how it could possibly be an over the counter herb. That feeling’s annoying to me more recently. Can’t explain why, but I’ll try. If my heartbeat starts speeding or slowing without me respectively having thought about traffic or a tranquil cave with a power animal (my power animal is Edward Norton shouting at me to get out and calling me a big tourist), that cardiac alteration is like something else is taking control. I didn’t do the change and I like doing shit myself, so it pisses me off.

That said, if you’re an experimental college kid or unemployed 30-year-old stoner whose stash is running low, Yogi puts out this fantastic herbal alternative for your consumption. Some people call it “Nature’s Valium”.

I call it “Break glass in case of emergency”.

So, go forth, my loves and get legally lit.

Yogi teas are great though. And in the end, they beat out Tulsi and some of the others for me. I came to like them best because they don’t promise elaborate things. So, when they deliver on the subtle sleepytime stuff that knock you TFO, you have that much more faith in them via a nice surprise of the tea actually doing what it claims to. Yogi also wins with their fun little affirmations.

And sage advice:

Mhmm.

Vague, but sage.