So I paid a return visit to my old stomping grounds in Spartanburg last weekend. It was my friend's 35th birthday (yeah, I know, we're all getting old), and with 4/20 coming up and my birthday on the 29th, what was supposed to be an informal little get-together with a few close friends quickly morphed into a blowout celebration of all things April.
And I learned something interesting: one of the side effects of marijuana is time travel!
It's true: after we all got obliterated on the mary jane, apartment I-68 got caught in a time warp. Suddenly all our old high school standbys were back: the delivery pizza, the cheap-ass wine being drunk straight from the bottle, the "alternative" music we thought made us so cool, Tetris and Dr. Mario on the Super Nintendo....I swear, if you closed your eyes it was 1994 all over again.
Which was great fun, don't get me wrong. But this was also the first time I'd smoked up since January.
So, a little occasional escapist time travel back to a happier time never hurt anyone. Especially when you're as fed up with your current situation as I am. But therein also lies the inherent danger of marijuana...
See, I spent most of 1999-2003 in a weed-induced fog. Which was also a lot of fun. But looking back, those were my personal "lost years." Beyond a broken-off engagement, I came out of that period of my life with nothing to show for it. I mean, if I could stay in my apartment on the comfy couch and watch Cartoon Network all day, leaving only occasionally to go to work at the coffee shop so I could afford the rent (and more wacky tobaccy), then what's my motivation to do anything? I'm happy. I have everything I need (namely: my remote, my phone, my pipe, and something to drink) right here within arm's reach, so why would I bother?
Here's why you bother, you fuckin' turn-of-the-century stoner GiddyIguana. Because that's not what our purpose on this plane of existence is. At the end of the day, what have I accomplished? What have I done to better the human condition--or my own sorry state of affairs, for that matter? If I die in a horrific car accident tomorrow (which nearly happened to me during that time period--twice), what are they going to say about me at my funeral? I mean, let's face it. I'm a decent author, a reasonably talented artist, a political mastermind...and all those talents were completely going to waste while I sat there on that comfy couch, blazed out of my mind, watching reruns of "Cow and Chicken." In my experience, there's nothing worse than unfulfilled potential. I just had to get off that couch and away from the pipe for a while to finally realize that and do something about it.
No, I haven't turned COMPLETELY lame in my old age. I've just had to learn the wisdom of moderation. "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." So...hope everyone had a happy 4/20. But now it's 4/21. Get back to work, you damn hippies!
And I learned something interesting: one of the side effects of marijuana is time travel!
It's true: after we all got obliterated on the mary jane, apartment I-68 got caught in a time warp. Suddenly all our old high school standbys were back: the delivery pizza, the cheap-ass wine being drunk straight from the bottle, the "alternative" music we thought made us so cool, Tetris and Dr. Mario on the Super Nintendo....I swear, if you closed your eyes it was 1994 all over again.
Which was great fun, don't get me wrong. But this was also the first time I'd smoked up since January.
So, a little occasional escapist time travel back to a happier time never hurt anyone. Especially when you're as fed up with your current situation as I am. But therein also lies the inherent danger of marijuana...
See, I spent most of 1999-2003 in a weed-induced fog. Which was also a lot of fun. But looking back, those were my personal "lost years." Beyond a broken-off engagement, I came out of that period of my life with nothing to show for it. I mean, if I could stay in my apartment on the comfy couch and watch Cartoon Network all day, leaving only occasionally to go to work at the coffee shop so I could afford the rent (and more wacky tobaccy), then what's my motivation to do anything? I'm happy. I have everything I need (namely: my remote, my phone, my pipe, and something to drink) right here within arm's reach, so why would I bother?
Here's why you bother, you fuckin' turn-of-the-century stoner GiddyIguana. Because that's not what our purpose on this plane of existence is. At the end of the day, what have I accomplished? What have I done to better the human condition--or my own sorry state of affairs, for that matter? If I die in a horrific car accident tomorrow (which nearly happened to me during that time period--twice), what are they going to say about me at my funeral? I mean, let's face it. I'm a decent author, a reasonably talented artist, a political mastermind...and all those talents were completely going to waste while I sat there on that comfy couch, blazed out of my mind, watching reruns of "Cow and Chicken." In my experience, there's nothing worse than unfulfilled potential. I just had to get off that couch and away from the pipe for a while to finally realize that and do something about it.
No, I haven't turned COMPLETELY lame in my old age. I've just had to learn the wisdom of moderation. "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." So...hope everyone had a happy 4/20. But now it's 4/21. Get back to work, you damn hippies!
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
adoreartemis:
*taking note* 
squee:
Thank you so much for your lovely comment on my MR set, Garden Of Love