3.30.09
As I sit here on my fake leather computer chair, I contemplate my past few months. It seems that I’ve got a fairly satisfying, stable and enjoyable job. At this point, money is not a problem, except for the fact that I can never save it up. I always have a steady income, with my bank account staying the same linear amount for weeks at a time. I am doing fairly well in my community college classes, however, lately I’ve been slacking off more often. Maybe it’s the weed. No. It is the weed.
A friend of mine once told me that “sobriety is a trip” and I completely agree with him. Throughout the 3 odd months that I stayed sober (excluding a few odd days in which I elected to toke a bit), I would say that my progress towards adulthood drastically skyrocketed. I knew exactly what I was doing and exactly what I needed to do. I performed the tasks that I told myself to do promptly and without hesitation. At that point, I finally felt somewhat in control of life (I will save myself the trouble and exclude the rubix-cube like complexities I have with women.) I was finished with getting high and moving on to living life in Dimension One (aka sobriety — I will explain later.) Life in Dimension 1 was not too shabby. I knew what I was looking at and my mind moved a mile a minute, which is light-years better than whatever sluggish pace my mind moved at while under the influence of THC. It was almost overwhelming to me how quickly I would react to things. I simply wasn’t used to not being high all the fucking time. Somebody finally cleaned up the nasty pubes which coagulated around my brain-drain.
Recently, I began smoking pot again. I wanted to have another taste since I had not touched the stuff in ages. The feeling of that first high felt overrated — as it did the time before stopping. I decided to give it another chance, but again it just wasn’t right. I began to think that I was done with weed.
And then I met up with my friend Kevin. Kevin has just begun smoking weed. He often engaged in conversation with me about his experiences, to which I half-heartedly laughed and responded to. I secretly never really cared because I have already been through those same things (I assume that every stoner has at least moment like this.)
One day Kevin invites me to smoke with him and his friend Eric — to which I agree.
He and Eric take me to “The Fort,” a special place which lies at the base of the mountain. “The Fort” was unlike any other hang-out spot I had ever been to before. Upon arrival, the first thing I noticed was the perfect little cove behind some trees. Looking up, I noticed somebody had fashioned various pipes, sticks, branches and bamboo to make a sort-of make-shift awning for a detached patio swing chair that served as a couch. Most impressive was the solar lamp which hung from the man-made awning skeleton. It is important to note that it is impossible not to hit your head on the lamp while getting up from the patio chair. In front of the couch was one of those chair-desk combo things, which I liked, and next to that was a white car door laying on the dirt with the words “COYOTE CAMP” spray painted onto it in gold. It was supposedly a bench. This whole place was extremely impressive. It was all hidden behind a curious bunch of small trees at the end of a short trail. The spot was not far from the cul-de-sac but far enough so that nobody would ever smell or even possibly see us from their homes. In other words, the spot was virtually perfect to get stoned at.
It was almost surrealistic to be sitting in The Fort. The idea that neighborhood teenagers took it upon themselves to keep up the spot amazed me. This was the kind of shit I only saw on cartoons or the Disney Channel. I sat very impressed. Kevin and Eric wasted no time creating their apple pipe. Eric had the apple pre-prepared prior to arrival. He was holding a stick with an alligator’s hand glued to the end (he used the blunt end of the stick to prep the apple pipe and I am still unsure as to why he still had it with him even after the apple was already prepped.) Kevin sat and excitedly watched Eric pack the first bowl of some “dank” weed that they had.
I smelt it and it wasn’t that dank.
At that point, I simply assumed that I was more experienced than the both of them (which turned out to be true.) We began to smoke. Eric took the first hit of the first bowl and began to cough and Kevin followed suit. I took my hit comfortably. This pattern continued for approximately three (3) bowls from the wonderfruit. When a consensus was made within the group, Kevin elected Erick to hurl the apple as far away from the spot as possible.
The weed was good but not that good. I got high, but not that high.
We did, however, have an interesting adventure that day. The adventure consisted of the three of us hiking up the steep incline of the mars-like rocky soil of the mountain, leading up into what seemed like nothing. Upon reaching the top, Kevin and Eric pretended to be Robots. Since I was high and it looked like a lot of fun, I did the same — it was not fun, it was fucking awesome. I had visited this mountain once before, but never high. I learned that the mountain is actually amazingly fun while high. I decided that the experience was interesting enough for me to come back for another visit to The Fort. It almost felt like visiting childhood once more.
And so begins another odyssey into marijuana. A trip that might last me a few more days, weeks or even months (hopefully not.) I enjoy relaxing at The Fort. I enjoy exploring the mountain, stoned out of my mind with a few close friends. However, what I don’t enjoy is neglecting responsibilities. It simply eats away at me, slowly but surely. It’s not a big deal, but it’s definitely irritating. Naturally, I worry a lot and naturally when I get high, I stop worrying. The problem here is that when I’m not worrying, I feel like I should be — but I don’t. This is why being high sometimes doesn’t feel right. Coming down never fails to make me feel awkward. It is as if all of the worrying I should have been doing is dropped on top of me in bucket-loads all at once. I sometimes worry but for reasons unknown. It is, what I predict, will be the death of me.
Tonight a paradox is being formed in front of me. To smoke weed or not to smoke weed? The moral part of me wants to say no but at the same time, I feel like I need a little bit of relaxation and leisure. 3 months secluded from weed did a lot to me. It chiseled me into some sort of work-loving, homework-doing and fun-ignoring pseudo-adult. I suppose this was the real me, working hard as to not worry. I could probably say that I enjoyed it but at the same time, the satisfaction of having nothing to worry about left me feeling hollow. Conversely, being high on marijuana helped me ease up and enjoy the moment I live in. Some of the best times of my life have been under the influence of weed. Unfortunately, although I enjoy the experience, the attitude of being high is the complete opposite of what my conscious mind perceives as being “comfortable.” This is why I feel weird after coming down from being sky-high. The paradox exists within my self. I like weed, but then again, it only pulls me away from what I “want” to accomplish — but then again, I think to myself “what do I really want to accomplish?”
I once told a friend of mine that whenever I get high, I always feel like I’m visiting a different dimension, which for simplicity purposes, we will call Dimension 2. Dimension 2 is a place where I am taken whenever I smoke weed. Dimension 2 makes me feel “high.” Remember Dimension 1? Dimension 1 is simply the world we live in now — sobriety. Now here’s the tricky part. Dimension 2 mirrors Dimension 1 in nearly every single way, except for - the most obvious - perception. When I am in Dimension 2, I have no idea what my doppelganger is doing to alter my home dimension but I can easily assume, by observing whatever becomes altered in Dimension 2. Since either dimensions practically mirror one another, it is safe to say that whatever happens in Dimension 2 happens in Dimension 1— but this does not mean that one should assume that the outcomes will be exactly the same.
There are days when I wake up in Dimension 1, confused and curious but these are the days where questions are better off unasked.
Lately, I’ve been kind of stuck in Dimension 2. This is can sometimes be potentially dangerous, especially with responsibilities regarding my college classes. I can easily perform school tasks in Dimension 2, but what is actually happening in Dimension 1 is unknown to me and I don’t like it. I only know what is happening in Dimension 2 and since I am a natural worrier, I worry about what I’ll do when I return to Dimension 1. Unfortunately, traveling from one dimension to another takes a lot of out my memory, which takes a lot out of my energy, which takes a lot out of my motivation. I love weed but I also love getting shit done.
So what do I do?
Imagine living in a world where having two wives was considered normal. The wives are different in nearly every way, but each have distinct qualities that you absolutely love. The wives also each have unique qualities that bother you. Unfortunately, since the wives are so different, they prefer not to be around each other since they get along so badly. The wives don’t necessarily dislike each other because of jealousy, they simply don’t get along which means you would need to be living in two separate houses. Assume you love both your wives a lot (it’s rhetorical, just work with it.) Now imagine having to satisfy each wife adequately in order to satisfy yourself. Would you pick one to live with or would living with the variety be better?
I suppose that’s kind of a bad analogy but that’s what it feels like to me. Oh well. At this point, it doesn’t really matter. All I want is a pizza.
