[Originally written on this date in 2005]
The day after my lovely date with Jon, my neighborhood was once again visited by snow and it seemed as though Nature could not make up her mind. Still I had to run a few errand and on the way back I got the brilliant idea to stop in the park for a quick bowl. Now I am not going to be one of those people who say they need pot to function, but in the same sense, I have noticed that certain things change depending on whether or not I smoke. There is no other viable explaination for why that is, and as an example, I have not had a good night’s sleep unless I have been so atrociously drunk that I passed out. Even then I wake up several times before actually getting out of bed in the morning. Not sure if I can actually call this insomnia, but there are times I am wide awake when everyone else is sleeping and can easily stay up for days without realizing it.
Before “quitting” [I use that term in the loosest manner possible, due to the fact that I did not choose to quit], I would lie in bed and watch some t.v., smoke a bowl and pass the fuck out. If I happened to wake up it was to use the bathroom but I could get in bed and fall asleep with no problems.
Another example? Writing a 200+ page story, and not one word fell out of my head while I was sober. Believe me, I tried my hardest but would just wind up staring at the blank paper, waiting for something to be written. Any recent attempts made have also failed. That is, until I had a small bowl in the park, the greens having been payment for hooking up James with that dye job a while ago. As soon as I was done, I could not wait to get back to the house to do some writing, and that is exactly what I did.
On this day, I figured since there was not going to be much else to do, I would go out and have a quick bowl, then get back to the house to enjoy the short-lived bliss it would bring me. It should be obvious that smoking in or even around the house is not an option, nor am I going to risk walking though the neighborhood and being seen by someone I live with, since pot is not encouraged in the household. There was a ranger sitting in the parking lot, so I played the Oops I Am Lost game, turned around, and made my way out. Should have known better than to drive in the snow, because I start sliding and keep going until I make low-speed contact with a wooden barrier. Hoping the ranger was not going to be following me, I drove out of there as fast as I could.
Laughing about it now though. Upon returning there was some hostility in the house due to an argument I had nothing to do with. My instinct led me to call James, as I figured I could remove myself from said situation for a while so they could sort it out between themselves. Fast forward to arrival at James’ place. Out of kindness and knowing that I could use something to relax, we smoked a blunt in my car and it did not take long for me to be detached from whatever had been bothering me.
Then we went inside and listened to some Link Wray and a few other tunes before absorbing Pen & Teller’s Bullshit, which is perhaps some of the funniest and brutally honest comedy I have seen in quite some time. A few hours later I departed, thanking my most gracious host. Suddenly I could not help myself from thinking of a way to scrape together some funds for future repeat performances, knowing it would kick start that neglected artistic part of my brain so that I could finally complete the story I began so many years ago.
Following the minor accident I had the day before, I realized that I had managed to do some damage to the front end of my vehicle. Nothing massive, thank goodness – just knocked the headlight out of place and broke the turn signal. Even still, I took a visit to James to get his mechanical opinion on it. We laughed when I relayed the story of how it happened. Fortunately, the turn signal light still worked, so I could get away with it for a while. A new one would have to be ordered so that the broken one could be replaced. The headlight just had to be adjusted and it would be good as new, and James said he could take care of that when I returned to get my oil changed.
We hung out for a while, shooting the shit since there weren’t really any customers. Again I was tempted to fill him in about the amorous adventure I had with Jon, and while I appreciate James’ friendship in many ways, I still find it difficult to talk about someone that no one else knows. Bringing up just one thing would mean having to explain and fill in a bunch of back story that I am uncomfortable just handing out as useful information. So I thanked James for his time and came back to the house to muse about my writing.