Just call me PotHead

As many of you know I live in the country on five acres and over 300 feet of lakefront.  It’s quite lovely, I cannot lie.  It’s a little piece of heaven really.  We have a dog, 3 rabbits and about 20 Koi and Goldfish.  When we leave on vacation from our vacation home (wait...what?), we prefer live in care for the animals we leave behind.  The dog usually joins us but the fish, it’s dicey on long road trips. The bowl keeps spilling.   Most recently we rented a cottage in Michigan, took the dog, left the rabbits and fish behind with three rounds of house sitters coming and going.  Much of the time, the house sitters are made up of dear friends and they bring their friends and family to enjoy our home.  We hope they get to feel like our home is a vacation home/cottage they might not otherwise get the chance to have, and we get the peace of mind that the animals and the house will be well cared for.  When we return we always find amazingly clean home and goodies; pasta sauce from scratch, lasagna, baked goods and this time, a wee bit of the Mary Jane, the wacky tabaccy, “smoke”, marygewanna, or “MJ” I am going to call it (just because I am lazy that way).  

 

The view is beautiful in God's country....when you are sober.

 

Truth is, I haven’t smoked the shit since high school.  On return from said vacation we had company and they enjoy the occasional “toot” a friend calls it.  So I had some then, after 20 plus years at least since my last "toot".  The last thing I heard as I went to take a cute little pipe was “don’t take too much or hold it in for too long if you don’t smoke normally” so I didn’t.  I listen to the pros.  I am good that way.  I like to be informed and educated before particip-action.  The next thing I clearly remember saying was “holy shit, am I talking a lot?  I feel like I am talking a lot?  Am I?  I am annoying myself”.  To which I got a reassuring, “we are all friends, relax, enjoy, go with it” from a friend, who I am sure was giggling her ass off behind me.

What I didn’t do in that period of time where I was only a smidgen under the influence was see how my back felt.  I have three herniated discs, one of which is torn, plus significant damage to the fascia, ligaments and nerves that run from the back down the leg.   I qualify for medical MJ if I want it due to this injury, but I never bothered because I figured I could become a big pot head, sitting on the couch, 300 pounds of Cheetos all around me, hoping someone would lift me up so I could go pee.  And, I quit smoking cigarettes a year ago, I didn't want to do anything even remotely related that might lead me back in that direction, no thanks.  I’ve quit twice and each time was harder than the last.  Okay, honest to shit truth is, I am learning to accept me for me but there is no way I was going to do something that made one have the “munchies”.  There is no way I will find myself like this:

  

That's not me...but it so could be! I am not above this type of behaviour, at all.

 

There’s the lead in.  Don’t smoke it, people left it, I had tried it but didn’t remember to think about my back, in large part likely because I was in fact, high.   And I am fearful of baths full of Cheetos, like a lot scared.

 

My hubster was away travelling as he often is and when he gets home I am often angry.  He was away, I missed him, I feel vulnerable, insert insecurities, and compensative anger here.  When I feel insecure I defend that feeling with my temper.  I didn’t want to do this to him and my back was sore, so I decided to smoke a joint, take the edge off as they say.  Not sure who they are but I think they know shit.  Figured it would give me the giggles and a happy homecoming for my hubby and I could check out how my back felt on MJ.  I hopped in the car and headed into town where I remember one of the local gas stations had basically a head shop in it.  I always wondered how they get away with that.  Isn’t this shit illegal?  Right, so let me talk more about my illegal activity.  On my shopping expedition I got some sort of little container that grinds down the MJ, I’ve seen them used.  I of course have no idea how it works, couldn’t figure it out, and its remains unused.  Apparently you can just crumble the MJ with your hands. I bought me some Zig Zags.  That’s rolling papers to those not in the “know”.  I took as little of the MJ as I possibly could, crumbled it, put it in said paper and commenced rolling.  I relied solely on memory functioning from high school.  My fingers did what my brain had forgotten. If I do say so myself, that bitch was FINE!  Nice and tight, but not too tight thus preventing a nice slow burn.  Oh I still got the mad skills all, got ‘em.   NAILED IT! After I appreciated my handiwork and did a little jig in the kitchen I proceeded to sit outside by the pond with the dog.

……….. And smoke the ENTIRE joint, alone. 

See I got halfway and thought, “Well I feel it a little, but not too much, a little more won’t hurt”.  By the time I finished the joint, I was high.  End of story.  Well not quite, it never is with me.  I knew this was going to make for a good tale so I decided to write down how I felt and it is below, without any spellcheck or edits.  And here it is, for your enjoyment.  I have very little clear recollection of what I said exactly so I will enjoy reading it alongside you.

 

I have smoked pot for the very first time in a VERY lONG time.   I sit here wondering why it is I want to burp.  What the fuck is in pot that is making me want to burp?  And why are the letters on this page appearing magically out of some sort of doorway on the paper?….right my fingers, fuck that’s funny….jesus I am not good with this. Not at all. What is with the fucking burps?  Okay, gonna take a gravol in hopes I fall asleep and the naseau passes. I am sitting on the fuckign couch why am I seasick?  I used to like this shit, come on now, why????  OMG the dog just spoke to me, in dog language not human, that would be wrong….fucking hell that’s funny shit. my tongue feels heavy???  I would put the TV back on and lose myself in it if only the people would stop moving, oh the tv is on, don’t look up fuck these letters are just coming out of nowhere….right I am typing.  People really like this shit?  Fucking hell a bird just chirped and I almost shit myself in fear?  What am I afraid of, the PO PO?  Cause a 43 year old dumnbass smoked a doobey.  Why do they call it that.?  Peanut butter sucks ass right now.  Had a pb reeces cup and it’s still stuck to the roof of my fucking wouth.  I meant mouth.  I have a fan going beside me, not sure I like that much either.  Feel every hair blowing like I hav a full beard.  Duck Dynastsy here I come.  Burp.  WtF! Oh that’s awesome.  The door.  The doorbell.  Be SOBER.  Be it.

GOLD!  That’s what that is, GOLD! (Hence the font colour).

At the door was the son of a good friend up here.  He and his Dad weed my gardens for me and in turn I donated some money to his hockey fundraising.  But there is this wee little guy at my door and I remember thinking, screaming I my own head, “act sober, stop darting your eyes about, why are you hiding behind a door?”  I opened the door, the little man asked to see the rabbits and I realized I couldn’t do it.  I wasn’t sure I could go in there, or out into the big bad world like this.  My dog was eating dinner, the TV was on, and this kid wants to see the rabbits, ITS TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH, TOOOOOOOOOO MUUUUUCH!  I sent him politely (I think) into the garage to the rabbits with his Dad.  I finished with the dog and splashed water on both our faces.  His by accident, mine intentional and headed out to the rabbits. 

 

OMG why are you here, please don't see me, please don't see me.  DAMN IT.

Once in there I started to think, “I smell, I smell like pot, his Dad knows I smoked pot”.  DAMN IT.  I look down at my shirt, and it's one of my homemade ones.  It basically reads “f*ck you”.  DAMN IT.  I went and got food for the bunnies for the little guy to feed them and basically forgot which rabbit would do what.  DAMN IT.  Who would take a carrot from the hand?  That one.  NOPE.  Sorry little man.  Try this one, NOPE.  Sorry again.  DAMN IT.  "What the fuck is wrong with you woman" is constantly running through my head?  Here this one will eat from your hand, I am sure of it this time I said. SCORE!  Yay.  Well done gurl, well done.  Why are you talking so much?  "Stop it" I thought to myself, do I always talk this much?  They have to know I am stoned.  DAMN IT.  Finally after trying to communicate in, what I can only assume was the English language, the little man and his Dad headed off.  All I could think was that in the three months this gorgeous little boy had come by he had NEVER spoken that much.  Now maybe it was because I was so high that I thought that but I swear he talked to me for 7 hours!

At this point I knew I couldn’t get let my husband come home and not tell him.  I must have been acting ridiculous so I called him and said “honey, I, uhhhhmmm, smoked a joint, alone, by myself and now, I am quite high and I am not really enjoying this whatsoever”.   “Okay honey, when you are done laughing you need to understand when you come home I could be in the corner of the kitchen, lights off, flashlight on, and eating ice cream from the container”.  Again, big belly husband laughs.  DAMN IT!  Now I started laughing.  That too, went on for 6-7 hours I believe.  My husband asked if I was in fact okay, I said yes through tears of laughter and hung up.  It’s an hour and a half drive from where he was.  I called 9 more times.  One of the times I called he couldn’t understand a word I muffled.  Apparently I thought having a Reese’s peanut butter bar of some sort to rid my mouth of the pasties and my stomach of the burping was a good idea.  Of course the peanut butter just stuck to the very dry roof of my mouth and I called to tell him about it.  By the time he arrived, he was in hysterics and he had decided I would be forever known as “pothead”.  Even this morning he called from the car to ask me not to smoke a joint in his absence.  He was going out for maybe a half hour.  ASS!  Once he got passed laughing at me last night he went to check on all the animals because I said I “thought” I fed them.  He was pretty certain he’d find dog food floating in the fish pond and fish food in with the rabbits and the dog still starving.  Half  an hour after that I decided I HAD to have pizza, even though I wasn’t hungry really.  In his usual helpful manner Dan just kept saying “do you want another slice stoner?”  He just defines "helpful" in the dictionary he does.

At one point in the evening the dog went looking for a toy for us and he went behind a chair, where much to my stoned surprise,  there was another toy basket .  I didn't remember it was there so I said “Jesus Christ the fucking dog’s smarter than I am”.  And Dan’s reply?  “Right now, I am pretty sure the couch is smarter than you are!”

I can say with confidence I am done dabbling in pot.   Didn’t enjoy that one bit but I do hope you enjoyed the ride along.