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Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I'd Rather Do Drugs Than Take Drugs - I NEED WEED !!!!

I NEED WEED !!!!!
Since I've been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety disorder, ADD/ADHD and also have sleep disorders, I've been put on a pile of pills as my treatment plan. Some days I think the pills work. I think I'm better than I was a year ago. But lately my anxiety attacks have increased for no apparent reason. Today, I came to the conclusion, "I'd rather do drugs than take drugs - I NEED WEED !!!!!"

It's been five years of being clean for me and about 4 1/2 years of being sober. I'm proud of my accomplishments.

When I was a stand-up comic I used to say, "If you're doing drugs, quit. You want to have a few years without them before you HAVE to take them."

In the 70's I said, "Reality is the price you pay for not being able to handle drugs." I'm surprised Bartlett's hasn't picked up on that one. Maybe I need to start a campaign for my quote.

Getting back to the point. With my increased anxiety attacks, I can tell you right now, "Modern medicine could not give me the relief that a big ganga fatty would."

That's right. I want a big fatty. No blunts. No bongs. Just a big fat wad of sticky buds rolled perfectly in a single sheet of standard Zig-Zag paper. Put me in the oven at 420 and bake me all day. I can take a hit or two and let it go out. An hour later, another hit or so. Rinse. Repeat.

If I'm going to break one of my clean and sober streaks, I'd rather be sober than clean. Booze makes you stupid, arrogant, disagreeable, loud, angry, sloppy, dangerous, inconsiderate, undesirable, careless, uncoordinated, uncool, disgusting, idiotic, a problem and makes you fall down. You don't gain any points slurring words or belching beer breath on your friends.

When I used to smoke weed, my friends and I would solve world problems with Post-it notes, eat a lot of pizza, solve more world problems with melted crayons in a fry pan, eat more pizza, invent devices out of used tin foil that would solve world problems, order another pizza, listen to loud music and then take a nap. We were calm and never a threat to anyone, unless we were drinking while we were smoking pot.

If I was able to smoke pot, I'd probably be able to get rid of my sleeping pills, which could kill me if I take too many. I could also get rid of my anxiety medicine, which takes up to an hour to take effect, if it does anything at all. A joint would give me instant relief. If I smoked enough, my bipolar mania would be curbed and I'd probably sleep more normally, instead of being up for two days straight, then crashing for 15 hours. I never had problems with rampant mania until I gave up drugs and alcohol. When I got on Zoloft, I went through the roof and ruined my life. None of that would have happened if I was just smoking a little pot every day.

When it comes down to medical marijuana - I'm in. Legalize pot - I'm in.

I have never seen the kind of idiots on pot that I've seen on liquor. Pot is not an herb from the gods. It has consequenses for its use and should only be used in moderation. Alcohol, however, kills people every day. Kills. And there are a lot of mental patients that could ger relief without subjecting themselves to side effects that will destroy their kindeys, make them pass out, limit their use of machinery or the ability to drive or cause them to be suicidal - some help.

Right now... I NEED WEED !!!!

Most of the time, I had a GREAT experience smoking weed. I did, however, have a really weird experience, and my friend was to blame.

We had scored some pot that must have been laced with something. It altered your spacial perspective. You'd feel like you were going down stairs when you were really going up. The walls of our apartment looked like they angled outward. Our windows were trapezoids instead of rectangles - that kind of weirdness. This bud also got you really high, really fast. You couldn't do more than one or two bong hits. If you did three, you lost all track of time and your watch turned into a Salvador Dali classic.

One day, my roommate, Mike, and I decided to have a couple bong hits of the weirdo weed and head out somewhere. We never made it off the couch. I think we had three bong hits. Fortunately, we had tons of music on cassette tapes, so we only had to flip them every 40 minutes, instead of changing an album on the turntable every 20 minutes.

Mike and I sat in a stupor on the couch, laughing about the fact that there was air and that we had light switches in our apartment. Both of us had our feet up on the edge of our heavy wooden coffee table.

Since I was closest to the sound system, I'd get up and change or flip the tape. Then, I'd hit the restroom and come back. What I didn't realize over the next couple hours was that Mike would push the coffee table about a half inch away from the couch each time I got up. After hours and hours of laughing about lint and the fact that there even was a sky, I started to notice something wasn't quite right. By that point, we had had several more bong hits of the weirdo weed that altered your perception of space, time and reality.

Suddenly, the thought crossed my mind that I was shrinking. ?????

I noticed that gradually, when I put my feet up on the edge of the coffee table that my knees were bent less and less. Eventually, I had to stick my legs straight out to reach the coffee table. I was right, "I was shrinking."

I turned to my buddy, Mike, late in the afternoon and said in a dead serious tone, "Mike,..... Am.... I.....getting..... smaller?"

Mike loved to prank people, so he said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I immediately tried to plead my case with him. "Mike......this......is......serious.......My legs......can.....barely.......reach.....the......coffee......table. I'M FREAKIN' SHRINKING! DON'T BUST MY BALLS. TELL ME THE TRUTH!!!!!"

Mike, laughed and started to play along. "You know, you do seem a bit smaller than you were earlier."

"See, I fuckin' knew it. I'm shrinking and I can't make it stop."

"You know, you were blocking the lamp before, but I have no problem seeing it now."

"Damnit. I'm going to be a damn dwarf if this keeps up. What should I do?"

Mike could not control his laughter. He was doubled up on his side on the couch and nearly choked to death. That's when he told me what he was doing to me. "Hey Rog, I've been inching the coffee table away from the couch every time you got up."

"You bastard." Then both of us laughed for almost ten minutes and had a couple more bong hits. Maybe the weed would make food appear and we'd be in heaven.

That was the only time I had something really, really weird happen while smoking pot. I've got a million drinking stories that will make your head spin and cause you to throw up on your mom's couch.

For now, though, I NEED WEED !!!! and it might help me throw away my sleeping pills and my anxiety medications.

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2 comments:

  1. Great story, you should write a book or at least a short story...hmmmmmm I think you just did that. Lots of states are finally legalizing the Killer weed and finding ways to collect the killer taxes on it too. So if you found a way to get the legal BUD, you at least be sober and you would never leave your couch to go to the store and buy the alcohol. It still confuses me why Pot is illegal, I think it is because they cant tax something that you can grow in your backyard. Well, thanks for the great story and the big laugh's and I hope you find a cure for your anxiety, cause it sounds like you are getting anxiety attacks from worrying about getting anxiety attacks. Smoke a bowl and get some sleep.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Favorite part: "Maybe the weed would make food appear and we'd be in heaven."

    ReplyDelete

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