Stoner

The other week my good friend took me to the weed store to buy some stuff. She volunteered after I told her I found a weird lump on my neck and was scared it might be something serious (the impending doctor’s appointment is this Thursday to see what is going on). She was very comforting, but gave it to me straight that I was a massive ball of stress and needed to learn how to relax otherwise I would be guaranteeing myself an early death. She’s right, problem is I am bad at relaxing, and if I am able to relax, it is fleeting. So she suggested using marijuana to help me along.

I got a couple of pens, some edibles, and because my purchase went to a certain amount, I was able to get drinks laced with the stuff for a penny. I haven’t done edibles in quite some time—I took some pop rock candies sometime last year, then prior to that the last time I really did anything was when Godspeed You! Black Emperor released their latest album back in 2021, otherwise I’ve been living the sober life for quite some time.

And even when I did weed, it was in edible form just because my living situations have always prevented me from being able to smoke anywhere. I guess vapes have come a long way now where you can smoke the stuff and it doesn’t smell like anything, dissipating fairly qucikly (I still blow it outside my bathroom window to be on the safe side).

I have been using a pen that is half THC/half CBD, which has been a nice way to ease back into doing it again. The flavor is Moroccan Mint, which adds a cooling effect as I inhale and exhale. So far it’s been a before bed ritual, right after I do my bed time routine (shower/wash my face/brush my teeth) but before I do my stretches.

I feel like I’m channeling my college years, figuring out new and inventive ways to get high. In a sense, it’s like getting into a new relationship, figuring out new and exciting places to fuck without getting caught but still having a good time. Except with weed.

Stretching while high sounds like something that could be fun (It is and you sleep like a baby)

I wonder what the Denis Villeneuve version of Dune is like while high (It was cool, but my brain immediately thought, ‘I’m not sure if I buy Oscar Isaac as Timothee Chalamet’s father. Oscar has cake for days, and poor Timothee looks like he’s starving for cake. But it’s science fiction, and I don’t look much like my mom, either, so who the fuck am I to say anything?)

How does Sunn O))) sound with noise cancelling headphones on? Good.

Can I do a New York Times crossword high? Apparently not because I forget what words are, but I did figure out the theme of last week’s puzzle based off a single clue because I’m a film nerd (It was Hitchcock’s Vertigo.) Damn shame it took me three days to complete, but I was high off my ass every time I went back to the puzzle.

I wonder what Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” video looks like baked (On my to-do list.)

One thing I did love doing high was masturbating, so I’m glad I’ve been able to rediscover that again. An orgasm while stoned makes a pleasurable experience that much heightened. For me, I feel connected to my body in a way that I never experience sober. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

It’s feeling like the equivalent of an evening glass of wine or a shower beer after work. It shuts my brain up, which is in a constant state of running. My anxiety is getting ramped up again as my doctor’s appointment looms. My brother told me bodies are weird, they do weird things, and sometimes weird lumps pop up where they shouldn’t but it doesn’t necessarily mean there is anything wrong. I know he is being logical (wish I got that gene instead of my mother’s irrationality and anxiety), and I’m hoping that is the case. My dad took a look at it last week, and he didn’t seem too concerned but still said it was good I was getting it checked, then proceeded to tell me of a cyst he had to have lanced on his chest a few months ago.

I guess this shit is just more common than I am aware of. I’m just so used to never having to see the doctor, that the fact I was compelled to make an appointment was scary in itself. But as bodies age, things change. I know if a friend were in my predicament, I would be telling them the same thing—it’s probably nothing but its best to err on the side of caution and have a doctor look at it. The body is so personal, so when anything changes it’s immediately alarming. While I know I have a support system if there is something more serious happening with me, at the end of the day it is my body, I am the only one who will be dealing with whatever it is that’s going on, and that’s a lonely feeling. It’s a battle I am going in completely alone. Pairing that with everything that happened with my grandmother the last couple of months, I’m just feeling the aura of mortality have a hold over me, and I can’t help but to wonder if death is closer than I think.

Yes, the girl with a tattoo of Death on her leg is scared of dying. It sounds like a bad joke that even the worst stand-up comedian wouldn’t even bother telling, or a line in Alanis Morrissette’s song “Ironic” she wouldn’t even use.