Reefer Sadness
It's one of those summer days when it just is not possible to do anything at all. I've been sitting on my bed doodling or playing a game half-heartedly, I've been sprawled out on the couch chatting aimlessly with my roommates about girls or boys or sex or art, I've held a book in my hands and dazed out. My mind is one of those motes that play in the shadows between the shafts of light that bleed through dingy aluminum blinds.
This general listlessness combined with a complete absence of sexual arousal has put me in a state of mind very similar to that of my 12 year old self, left alone every day of the summer. What an odd time that was. I never had anywhere to go, no neighborhood friends, no summer camp, no sports. Life consisted of getting up late, eating Cap'n Crunch while watching Nickelodeon cartoons with sandy eyes, eating a bologna sandwich on my stomach while watching Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Jane's Addiction and Guns n' Roses videos on MTV, eating Doritos while watching cooking shows with my Mom on her lunch break, fighting with my brother, laughing with my brother, watching the lives of wild animals while he made concoctions in the kitchen that I would be dared to eat, then remembering our chores 30 minutes before my step-dad would come home and doing them in a sweaty flurry. In other words, it was mind-numbing fun. It was monotonous, it was like being perpetually stoned.
Key Word: "like"
When I was 21 I had a terrible paranoid hallucinogenic waking nightmare after smoking pot in which I believed that I had forever lost my mind and the ability to live in time as everyone else did. Don't even try to understand that, it's a slippery slope indeed. Ever since, I haven't exactly jumped at the opportunity to partake. It always takes me to the darkest space in my brain. Back in February I went to a birthday party in which everyone seemed to be smoking and thought, "what the hell!" Thirty minutes later I was in a cab on the way home muttering to myself about how shallow and evil people are and suspecting my cab driver of nefarious deeds.
I had pretty much decided that I just shouldn't smoke it.
But a few days ago I smoked with Froggie and I gotta say, it wasn't half bad. For the first time in a long while I understood why people enjoy it. Admittedly, I took only the tiniest hits; as I felt it wash over me I felt my body and mind relax in ways that they hadn't in months. As we laid on his little couch I felt a fondness for bad television that had been lost since childhood. One show bled into the next and held my interest in quick stops and spurts. No longer was time any concern. Television was just on, and when you let it in, you let it in completely.
Touch too took on a gentler connotation, and before I knew it we were playing around in a space without guilt or nervousness. Not that I normally feel those things around Froggie, who is kind and silly and sexily comforting to be around, but for once, my brain was shut off during physical interaction, and I just let it be what it was.
Unfortunately I took another, bigger hit and it started to have an adverse effect. Already prone to overthinking everything, I found myself analyzing every hand gesture, every noise that came out of my mouth. My vision started to tunnel a little and I started to feel enclosed inside of myself, barely speaking. Being aware of my own quieting, my paranoia increased regarding a fear of sounding stupid, or boring. When I get really high, essentially all of my worst insecurities get magnified until I reach a point of complete atrophy, at which point I fall into the deepest escape of sleep.
I don't regret doing it--I had a lot of fun and felt freed for much of the experience. I especially like the loosening of one's boring internal regulations, and the childlike ability to live fully from one moment to the next. Perhaps this is why as I lay there watching South Park I kept thinking how great it would be to watch a big summer blockbuster like Superman Returns after getting high. To just let go of that cynical inner voice that can't enjoy the thrill of the action for what it is: a simple sensual visual pleasure.
I know you remember this: chewing on a peanut m&m with the tickle of Coke in the back of your throat, watching explosions with a barely concealed glee, your mouth ever so slightly open in awe. Isn't that what we loved about going to the movies in the first place?
So maybe marijuana isn't as bad as I've been saying all these years. Still, I don't support smoking it every day! I don't want to see anyone get the short term memory of a sponge. That's not cute. Your inner child would kick you in the ass for that.
This general listlessness combined with a complete absence of sexual arousal has put me in a state of mind very similar to that of my 12 year old self, left alone every day of the summer. What an odd time that was. I never had anywhere to go, no neighborhood friends, no summer camp, no sports. Life consisted of getting up late, eating Cap'n Crunch while watching Nickelodeon cartoons with sandy eyes, eating a bologna sandwich on my stomach while watching Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Jane's Addiction and Guns n' Roses videos on MTV, eating Doritos while watching cooking shows with my Mom on her lunch break, fighting with my brother, laughing with my brother, watching the lives of wild animals while he made concoctions in the kitchen that I would be dared to eat, then remembering our chores 30 minutes before my step-dad would come home and doing them in a sweaty flurry. In other words, it was mind-numbing fun. It was monotonous, it was like being perpetually stoned.
Key Word: "like"
When I was 21 I had a terrible paranoid hallucinogenic waking nightmare after smoking pot in which I believed that I had forever lost my mind and the ability to live in time as everyone else did. Don't even try to understand that, it's a slippery slope indeed. Ever since, I haven't exactly jumped at the opportunity to partake. It always takes me to the darkest space in my brain. Back in February I went to a birthday party in which everyone seemed to be smoking and thought, "what the hell!" Thirty minutes later I was in a cab on the way home muttering to myself about how shallow and evil people are and suspecting my cab driver of nefarious deeds.
I had pretty much decided that I just shouldn't smoke it.
But a few days ago I smoked with Froggie and I gotta say, it wasn't half bad. For the first time in a long while I understood why people enjoy it. Admittedly, I took only the tiniest hits; as I felt it wash over me I felt my body and mind relax in ways that they hadn't in months. As we laid on his little couch I felt a fondness for bad television that had been lost since childhood. One show bled into the next and held my interest in quick stops and spurts. No longer was time any concern. Television was just on, and when you let it in, you let it in completely.
Touch too took on a gentler connotation, and before I knew it we were playing around in a space without guilt or nervousness. Not that I normally feel those things around Froggie, who is kind and silly and sexily comforting to be around, but for once, my brain was shut off during physical interaction, and I just let it be what it was.
Unfortunately I took another, bigger hit and it started to have an adverse effect. Already prone to overthinking everything, I found myself analyzing every hand gesture, every noise that came out of my mouth. My vision started to tunnel a little and I started to feel enclosed inside of myself, barely speaking. Being aware of my own quieting, my paranoia increased regarding a fear of sounding stupid, or boring. When I get really high, essentially all of my worst insecurities get magnified until I reach a point of complete atrophy, at which point I fall into the deepest escape of sleep.
I don't regret doing it--I had a lot of fun and felt freed for much of the experience. I especially like the loosening of one's boring internal regulations, and the childlike ability to live fully from one moment to the next. Perhaps this is why as I lay there watching South Park I kept thinking how great it would be to watch a big summer blockbuster like Superman Returns after getting high. To just let go of that cynical inner voice that can't enjoy the thrill of the action for what it is: a simple sensual visual pleasure.
I know you remember this: chewing on a peanut m&m with the tickle of Coke in the back of your throat, watching explosions with a barely concealed glee, your mouth ever so slightly open in awe. Isn't that what we loved about going to the movies in the first place?
So maybe marijuana isn't as bad as I've been saying all these years. Still, I don't support smoking it every day! I don't want to see anyone get the short term memory of a sponge. That's not cute. Your inner child would kick you in the ass for that.
posted by themerrygo at 7:24 PM
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