Confession/Resolution

I have a confession I’d like to make.

I never stopped smoking weed.

I didn’t even TRY all that hard.

I was doing the whole “Christianity thing” at the time and I felt like I SHOULD stop. I TRIED. But the lure of a good trip was too much for this old man to resist. After all, I had been a stoner for almost 20 years---which I realize is not all that long for a 47 year old man. I mean, I didn’t start until I was thirty years old, and most smokers I know began toking it up by the time they were in their teens.

So I started doing it again. Sometimes I would try to justify it and reconcile it with my “faith”. Other times I just resigned myself to “doing it even though I know it’s wrong”, figuring I’d be forgiven anyway. Kind of like a lot of Christians do with tobacco. And then there were times when I’d just say “fuck it, I like it, and I’m gonna do it.”

As time went by I grew further and further away from Christianity as a religion. Consequently I felt less guilt over my penchant for getting good and stoned.

But, in my defense to those who would judge me for smoking the demon reefer, my consumption did drop significantly. I went from being an EVERYDAY pothead to a pothead who only bought a sack every two or three weeks. I’d blaze through a quarter in three of four days and then I wouldn’t even want to THINK about doing it again. A few times I even thought about quitting. I’d say to myself, “If I could only focus on the really shitty things that come along with the overall experience I would be better able to lay it down for good.” Which, IMO, is very sound advice.

It would seem, however, that when the crappy aspects are put on the scales with everything I like about pot, they tip to the side of the good stuff every single time.

So you get the picture.

I was just fine with that. I admit I lied about it a few times when asked if I was still smoking pot. I liked to think in terms of relativity---after all, there is quite a gulf to bridge between the fortnightly dabble and the “wake and bake”. I might as well say I didn’t smoke at all.

I had no intentions of quitting---at least that was the case until a few months back.

It must be noted that it had been SEVERAL years since I thought my tolerance level would EVER be brought down to the point where I truly enjoyed marijuana like I did, say, 5 or 6 years ago. That, combined with the mood stabilizing elements of the medication I take, had me convinced that the “good old days: of getting REALLY fucked up were long gone history. Ha ha! Even now it seems absurd to think that a person would be able to maintain a good weed experience when the THC has to battle mood stabilizers that are already entrenched in the blood. Still, when you only smoke every two weeks the down time weakens the tolerance level so you can hope for at least one good night under the influence. Maybe two, if the dope is potent enough. Otherwise the rest of the baggie is wasted, and I’m not the kind who can just stash away any left-overs for the next time I’m ready. If I’ve got it, I WILL smoke it. That has been my policy and a rule that I have never been able to break.

Anyway, on the afore mentioned occasion I was with some guys---two good friends I’d known for a long time, and one guy who I had never met previously, but who seemed like a decent feller. We were to have a cook-out that evening and were on the way to Sam’s Club to buy some steaks when JF whipped out some bud and a pipe. JF has been know to sell a little bit now and then, but I’ve rarely bought from him because he never has anything but the real high dollar, ass-kickin’ weed. He’s good about sharing, though.

On this particular occasion I had no idea of just HOW ass-kickin’ his stuff was. I should have only taken one toke. Hell, a little half-sized toke would have served me well. It would have been more than enough. But the ol’ “smoke it if you got it” mentality kicked in. So I ripped off two monster hits.

If I had only known…

We walked into that huge store/warehouse and the next thing you know I’m giggling like a fool. I looked over to my companion, the one I didn’t know, and I could tell, by the expression on his face and in his eyes, that he was “stoned to the bone”. He saw me looking at him and at that moment a bond of friendship was forged.

I was in awe at the sheer immensity of Sam’s Club, with it’s countless crates of goods stacked almost to the ceiling. I sauntered over to the meat section where my other friends were picking out steaks for the upcoming BBQ. I can’t explain it, but I got the strangest, creepiest feeling looking at all the different kinds of meat. I wondered how many different animals made up the selection. I noticed the colors, the shapes, the sizes, everything about them. For some reason it really disturbed me, so I left that department and walked down one of the frozen food aisles.

I don’t know what triggered it, but all of a sudden I became convinced that I was going to die right then and there. All I could think of was that I was so far away from my wife and son. It saddened me to think of how they would take the news of my passing. The feeling was so strong that I feared I would crumble to my knees, that my friends would have to take me to the hospital or something. I wondered how they would react to the situation.

In the back of my mind, though, through all of this, I kept telling myself, “Calm down, relax. You’re just really high and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be this intoxicated. Just ride it out. Remember, it’s supposed to be fun. Ride it out, you’ve been here before and done this many, many times---it will all turn out just fine.”

Once I saw the logic in this thinking I was able to chill out and the premonition of dying passed. I settled into a state of mind where I was inordinately interested in the other people shopping in the store. I’d take note of the food items they were putting in their carts. I’d watch them rolling from aisle to aisle and I realized that there was one common denominator among them all: they were ALIVE, living, and the engine of their existence was SPIRIT. ONE spirit. And so I felt a kinship with them because of this. It was simply fascinating to watch them, and that’s when I knew the hurdle had been crossed and I was in the initial stages of what promised to be a very good marijuana experience. (I realize that some or this may seem a bit strange, but so it goes in the wild and wonderful world of cannabis)

The night eventually turned out to be a very good one. The best moments occurred when I lay down at the end of the night, on the verge of passing out, and got lost in auditory hallucinations that reminded me of why I became a stoner in the first place.

Still, that whole “dying” thing had me thinking about quitting. Even though the rest of the night was great, you have to understand just how unnerving it was to be certain of my imminent demise.

Not long afterwards I was able to purchase another sack of the really good stuff. The expensive kind. Sure enough I had another experience in which I thought I was gonna die. It was like, I thought, “Everybody dies sometime and none of them know exactly when it is going to happen…How do I know this isn’t my time? Within the next few seconds, even?” And the paranoia kicked in, magnifying and multiplying the fear. I had to really try hard to occupy my mind with something else so I wouldn’t think about it. That wasn’t not easy, because most everything else was all out of whack, too.

I made it through that episode without losing my mind. Maybe it was the old cartoons I watched, with the sound turned down, that saved me? Or perhaps I broke through to a safe place by watching “Koyaanisqatsi”. Those are pretty much the only memories I have of that night, other than doing the “feel-like-I’m-fixin’-to-die rag”.

A couple of months went by after that without anything bad happening. Probably because the pot I was getting did not have the same incredible potency as the shit that messed with my head.

But the last few times I’ve smoked were incredibly intense experiences. In many ways even more frightening than the premonitions of death I had. I don’t really want to go into detail in describing those occasions or WHY they were more unnerving than those in the past. Suffice to say that I finally came to the realization that it would be best if I made a New Year’s resolution for the turn of the decade to get serious about quitting. I figure it shouldn’t be all that hard if I just call to mind the memory of how terrifying the last couple of trips were. If I could do that I should have no trouble leaving it behind.

I say that---I know it’s true---I feel like I can do it---and yet I still plan on buying and toking up one more quarter ounce before the year is over. Hasn’t come through as quickly as it usually does, so the weed I’d hoped to consume on Christmas day---which was supposed to be my last---still has not arrived. I don’t have any reason to believe that it WON’T come through, but since the order has already been placed I have no intention of cancelling it. If I get it in the next couple of days I will have it smoked up before New Year’s Day and can start afresh on the first of the year. BUT, if it doesn’t arrive in time I will just have to say, “Oh, well. This is my last satchel”, and enjoy it even if it stretches into the early days of the next decade. Then I’ll stop buying. Then I’ll stop smoking (the first resolution will be a lot easier than the second, but we’ll see. I won’t beat myself up for fudging on the second every now and again).

I know. I know. Why don’t I just nip it in the bud (pardon the pun) right now and don’t mess around with that last bag? Especially knowing what it’s capable of doing---the negatives, I mean, as opposed to the positive effects (which, regardless, always seem to overshadow the bad shit).

I can’t answer that. I imagine it’s like how a tobacco user wants to have “that last cigarette”.

So, if you’re reading this, whether you know me in person or not, won’t you please send out some good thoughts and positive vibrations of encouragement? I don’t think I’ll need them, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.

To anyone who I have deceived, insomuch as not admitting that I have smoked pot during the last few years (and that list, I assure you, is a small one), I’m sorry. I never want to “lie”. If I have done so it was because I didn’t want people I care about to think lowly of me. But I suppose that, in the long run and in most cases, I should not care what anyone thinks anyway. It’s my life, isn’t that what they say?

I’m not ragging on weed in general. Far from it. I’ve had a lot of good experiences while under the influence. I’ve learned a lot about myself and have been shown a whole different way of looking at things that I might never have known had I not tried marijuana. I firmly believe that it should be legalized. It’s not for everyone and not everyone should use it. But for those who enjoy it, can handle it without becoming slackers, it should be readily available.

My reasons for quitting have nothing to do with it’s being legal. I don’t know how strong my resolution would be, however, if it WERE legalized. My issues with it don’t have much to do anymore with how easy or hard it is to procure. But, that said, the temptation could well break me down. Especially in light of how I’ve championed legalization for the last 20 years. You know, “IT’S FINALLY LEGAL!!! This is what I’ve waited for! Let’s go to 7-11 and buy a pack of hoglegs!”

I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that any time soon, though. Do you?

So…My New Year’s resolution is…