I spent the majority of the weekend fighting my way through a thick cloud of my own herb-induced thought vomit. I smoked a lot of pot. More than I've ever smoked in my life. In three days' time, I don't think I got more than a good hour of sunlight. I just sat in my room, in the dark, with the blinds closed and the fans on, thinking...thinking...thinking...
Pot, it turns out, is a depressant.
Not that it was a bad experience. There were moments when it felt good to feel everything...fuzzy top layers of memories I hadn't even thought of for years. Marijuana splits my personality, usually into two - my good self and my critical self, or what I call 'the tape'. Maybe my brother sold me some psychedelic herb because, this time, I was split into hundreds of parts, like how a tree branch splinters and each of those splinters were circling through me like a zoetrope projecting onto a screen. It was weird. It was intense. It was a little nauseating. I don't know if I'd call it insightful...it did, however, provide some great day-after reading material.
I'm in the video store now. I feel sticky and my right eye is red and puffy and I'm kind of, as always, pretty nauseous. I've been feeling really bummed lately. Just a real lack of energy and an unplaced sadness. I think a lot of this has to do with withdrawal. Brain chemistry is a bitch. Other than when I was in surgery, I have never been so under-the-influence as I am now. I don't understand my body. It's acting up and mood swinging and bloating and thinning and appetites come and go at odd hours, all at the flip of a coin, all at the whims of the wind. I feel like asking it: "Yo, what the hell?" But I can't, because I know it's trying. I know it's trying to shake off this fuzz. It's just saying 'I don't know. I'm just as confused as you are. I'm sorry. Bear with me.' And I guess I have no choice.
Yours,
I
If I were a breakfast food, I would be...a waffle. Pun totally intended.
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