I write more when I smoke weed. Is that a terrible thing to say? But it’s not like I’m going to mess up anyone’s life if I toke up. I’m not a doctor. I don’t drive at the moment. I’m not handling anyone’s money.
I’m a very nervous person. I don’t quite know how I got this way, but here I am. Broken before I even started; that one colored pencil that draws a few vibrant lines of color, then the tip falls out. Eventually you get tired of always having to resharpen something.
Left to my own devices, I would sit somewhere and read.
It’s only necessity that gets me washing dishes and wiping down counters. It’s only the people around me that keep me from winding down and just stopping somewhere. A silent, motionless humanoid shape, gradually losing all definition as it is caught in the spell of time.
So I smoke some weed.
It focuses my mind on the here-and-now. My brain chemistry has always been a bit different (that’s the problem you know, my brain chemistry. Ups, downs, and the short in-betweens). One Sudafed knocked me out for 12 hours once. I hallucinated for hours on a sleeping pill. Coffee calms me down. Music pours itself into my skull, reshaping my mood with its passage. And weed breaks me out of my obsessive compulsions.
If I start reading a book, I am driven to finish it. No sleep. No food. No rest.
I learned to read fast as a survival technique. It’s how I can read something like Dune in three hours and finish the whole series in a weekend.
As a kid, I would get weird notions caught in my head. I remember being abducted by aliens, the light shining everywhere, the gladness of never having to go back–It must have been a vivid dream for a child to have, because for years in my preteens and early teens, I was waiting for them to come back like they promised. I got a notion in my head that aliens had taken me up, and I believed it. Quietly in my head, child-me was sure someone was going to come and take me away.
My teenage years were hard. The giving up of childhood things and the entry into the real world. I took things especially hard.
I’m pragmatic. I’m agnostic to most religions–I don’t believe but I don’t disbelieve either; anything is possible in the afterlife. I love beautiful things, but I don’t have many beautiful things in my life. I’m prickly. I’m perky. I’m weird. I’ve got wacky brain chemistry.
Smoking weed helps me focus my thoughts. It breaks my obsessive thinking. It lets me write coherent prose.
And it’s legal in my state for recreational use.
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BTW, I got these waterbrushes from Amazon, and I’m trying my hand at watercolors.
It is not going as well as I was hoping. But maybe someday I’ll be good.
