I was going to try to be a smartass and do a whole post like I was writing while I was high, but I figured no one would be able to tell the difference - HA! In honor of today though, let's talk about weed for a minute, specifically my history with it. You're not a cop, are you?
As with many things I was a fairly late bloomer. I think most people, if they're going to try it at all, usually try it first in their teens, but not me. I grew up in a small town with fairly protective parents. I didn't even SEE pot until I was a senior in high school. My boyfriend at the time (he now resides in the Florida state prison system since pot interestingly did turn out to be a gateway drug for him and he eventually graduated to crack) had some one night while we were a party and it wasn't long after he showed me the bag of evil green stuff (it smelled nasty as hell to me)(back then) I broke up with him. Not because of that though; it was more due to the fact he was a total lovey-dovey cling-on and literally bathed himself in Polo cologne. Oh, Mark. I'm guessing you've not aged well.
Skip ahead three years to when I'm now buying beer legally. I'm socializing with a new group of friends, one of whom is Delorme. You know, the guy who is pretty much responsible for the direction my life took. After being around these people for a few months and seeing them smoke without any detrimental results (besides having long stupid conversations regarding how awesome Carefree Sugarless Gum and Sour Cream and Onion flavored chips are and hidden meanings behind classic rock lyrics), I figured what the hey. And I don't understand this, but I'd heard the first time you smoke it doesn't really work. Maybe it's God's way of giving you one more chance not to try it? I don't know, but that's what happened to me. The second time? A lot different. All I remember is laughing until I sprinkled my pants and swiftly inhaling a Whopper with cheese, which is how I knew I was high - I HATE Burger King.
For the next ten years the Maryjane was my thing. I thought, like many others, I'd found the perfect drug for myself. It didn't make me feel shitty the next day like alcohol. It wasn't habit-forming (officially). It didn't make me lazy (sometimes) but instead made things like cleaning the house, going grocery shopping and many other mundane chores a lot more fun. It made funny movies hysterical. It made me want to do creative things like write and paint and do crafts. True, it made some things more difficult, like following the directions on the back of the Hamburger Helper box, but I managed. I figured okay, this was good. I'd be one of those hip fifty-somethings with a long gray braid and loose hippie skirts with a garden and a sweet ass hydroponic system, living somewhere in the Pacific Northwest and voting Green Party.
It didn't work out that way.
But this isn't an Afterschool Special story. I didn't have any big epiphanies or Aha moments.
During the Bad Time, when Brian and I had first separated, an opportunity arose to smoke with a friend. It had been awhile but I figured what better way to calm down and take the edge off, finally. I needed to de-stress badly. That's not what happened. For the first time ever I didn't catch a tasty buzz. What happened was more like an anxiety attack and believe me, I'm well versed enough in those (Expert Level even) to know real fast when it's happening. I thought, Oh shit; this is what all those ex-stoners talked about and I just thought they had turned into big wusses. But since it sometimes takes me awhile to catch on, I tried it again a few days later, you know - just to make sure. Same thing.
I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me sad that I knew my stoner days had come to an end. But since that time, almost eight years ago, there have only been a couple of instances (usually while on vacation, usually in New York) that I've done it again, with semi-okay results. I din't have any more panic attacks, but I didn't have a ton of fun either. It mostly made me feel stupid and tired and unable to concentrate on what I'm reading. And I can achieve those things just as easily by myself, without inhaling an illegal smoky substance into my already damaged lung situation. (The fact that it's illegal is completely ridiculous to me, but that's another story.)
But There's one thing left over from the days of weed though that I recently unearthed. It was this little notebook and in it, I saw I'd started writing (and illustrating!)a book. The working title is The (In)Complete Stoners' Handbook and in flipping through it, I saw the thing is damn funny. Even now when I'm not under the same influence I was when I'd written it. Brian thinks it's a masterpiece, but you know - he still smokes. In fact, he's spent most of this morning looking for his phone that he misplaced yesterday. He finally found it though. Where? Why, in the engine area of his truck, wedged safely in a crevice so tightly it managed not to fall out while he drove over to his mom's house to look for it. Of course that's where it was. You mean you wouldn't put your phone in a super place like that while putting new brake pads on your vehicle? I guess he celebrated 4/20 a little early, and by early I mean daily, but all's well that ends well. He just told me I left my keys in his truck yesterday too and looked around for them for a half hour this morning inside the house, finally having to take my spare set to work which doesn't have my work keys on it. What's my excuse, because it damn sure isn't drugs.
Disclaimer: This blogger in no way endorses or admits to the use of any illicit or fun substances including but not limited to: Marijuana, LSD, white sugar, crack, diet pills, caffeine, cigarettes, all stimulants, all depressants, and chocolate. You cannot prove otherwise.