Stoned Again

The latest batch of pot I’ve been smoking reduces me to a 14 year old. When I smoke it, it feels like the first time (it feels like the very first time): I get light-headed, my mouth gets dry, and I get the munchies - all symptoms I have not felt in years.

Last night, I was feelin’ kinda blue for no particular reason at all, and sat down at my computer to dick around and listen to my monumentally suicide-inducing playlist (and I know that "monumentally suicide-inducing" doesn’t make much sense, but if you heard this playlist, you would understand completely). I had already been drinking some fine red (red) wine and decided, since it was Thursday night and all, to smoke a bowl or two.

What happened next, I can’t explain, but I was up until almost 3 in the morning smoking pot, drinking wine, listening to the playlist, and (saddest of all) playing computer solitaire. I was so fucking incredibly high and sad that when I looked at the clock and saw it was 1:48am, I did a double take (albeit a very slow double take). Then I played solitaire for another hour before going to bed.

(I had a 9am meeting this morning and was so stressed out about it that I woke up at 6:30 and came into work early. Since I was in early, I decided to treat myself to a sausage, egg and cheese bagel and a large hot chocolate. The effect these had on me was similar to when a bear gets hit with a tranquilizer dart. I slurred my way through the meeting, dark circles under my eyes, sipping diet coke, fighting to make my mouth say what my brain wanted it to say and move my body the way my brain wanted it to move. Now, I’m contemplating banging my head against a wall in the bathroom and going into my boss’s office to tell him that I fainted in the bathroom and need to go home, because I really need a nap. Johnny Trashbag: Champion Employee.)

The point is that I enjoy drinking so much that I forget the simple joys of pot. Just a couple of bingers can transform you from a successful 30 year old man, enjoying his fine Chilean wine in his own two-bedroom condo, into a groveling mess of emotions, practically weeping at his computer, hunched over playing solitaire, and trying to figure out the easiest route to marriage. Or threesome.

(Stoners: I know a "binger" is technically a bong hit but I enjoy the word so much that I use it to describe all types of pot-hitting. So please don’t email me and call me out on it.)