28 Apr 2004

Too much to smoke last night. I woke up this morning with my head stuck firmly up my arse. I have only been awake for 45 minutes and already I have made three basic errors. I've skinned my knuckles, left something vital behind and mistakenly waved at somebody I probably shouldn't have. Now I shall be in an ambigous mood for the rest of the day.

When you do something foolish and there is only one person to blame you can derive no satisfaction from taking your anger out upon a door or a bucket or anything inanimate and completely innocent. Then again, it is no good kicking yourself. These situations are why swear words are so necessary. You can relieve so much pressure by just bellowing "FUCKING FUCK, YOU TWAT!"

Marijuana. It has its uses. One of which is no longer daily puffing. The smoke of ages past reveals to the mind the fires of the present. Which is just a load of horseshit. Skunky buds. Will make you laugh harder than normal at something that is normally not all that funny. At least, not normally so funny as to cause giggling fits and hysteria that often feel that they might end up in you breaking a rib or three through excessive laughter. All in all, weed dulls your natural edge, throws off your natural rhythm and makes you make stupid bastard errors. And it can make you paranoid.

Which is why I no longer smoke the evil weed every day. When I first started to wean myself off daily consumption it became quite clear that after about six years of regular puffing, to be straight was as much of a drug as to be stoned. Discussions that beforehand I would have had a flap at and then collapsed in the corner to escape the words and to have a snidey smoke, suddenly became my playground again. I could talk authentic sounding bullshit like the rest of my friends. No longer would I consume whole jars of Marmite with lumps of cheese or take five hours to get out of bed. My life felt like it was mine again, that I was in complete control, so much so that in a sort of celebratory lifestyle change, I decided to become addicted to heroin instead. Which was fun.

Then the crack, the whizz, the acid and shrooms, the Charlie, the poppers, the pills, the K. Only occasionally, mind. Still, I have left myself with the option for dabbling in all drugs because I always managed to call it quits when things started getting properly fucked up. I no longer have a desire to be high. I like being straight far more; I find it much more fun. I am aware that everything has consequences and if my pursuit for an easy life is going to carry on in its present successful vein, a hundred quid's worth of brown is far from advisable.

This ramble is a result of me waiting for my errant boss to turn up. Now he has called me to say his car has broken down. For him, everyday is as if he's just popped some rather diabolical acid. The man is a centre of choas. Laters.

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