31 October 2006

I am soooooo not into sobriety right now, which is a shame because both of my contacts are dry right now. New York City Readers, is there a drought these days? So, i'm getting drunk. My Buddhism/Yogism teachers would tell me that i need to face all the shitty shit that's happening in my life face on, but i don't fucking want to. I'm tired of being strong and looking things right in the eye. I just wanna get fucked up and forget that credit scores, student loans and electric bills exist.

I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. It's not a cult. It's just as fucked up and mind-controlling as most other religions, except you can't celebrate Xmas and birthdays. From the get, i never wanted to be a part of it and when i started going to junior high, i delved into sports and the student newspaper and friends and used those extra-curricular activities as an excuse to avoid going to church. The JW's don't call it church; they go to the "kingdom hall." So, my relationship with G-O-D like that of many Judeo-Xtians who are Judeo-Xtians because of their family as opposed to faith, was tenuous for a long time. I stopped believing in God because i was mad at him for all the rules i had to follow. When i found Yoga and figured out that my relationship with God was completely unique and that no one had power over that relationship but me, it was like the Heavens opened up. Just like in Matthew 3:12 - 17. Because i'm in control of the relationship, i get to be angry at him when things don't go right, even when it's my fault. I can scream and cry and holler and yell at him and i have faith that he still loves me. And is watching out for me. And will make things better.

Jospeh Campbell was once asked, "Is your faith in God 100%?" And he replied, (my drunken paraphrasement), "No. That's why it's called faith and not fact."


30 October 2006

Ghosts.

I spent the day cleaning up and cleaning out my bedroom. It seems like i got rid of more than i kept and i feel empty now. A lot of the discarded debris was related to The Ex. A couple years ago, i thought i would hold onto those ticket stubs and love-notes scrawled on the back of Junior's receipts for the rest of my (our) life. When i lived down in Virginia for a few months and he stayed up here, we wrote letters at least once a week. I kept those. I didn't read them, except small glimpses as i folded them away. "I love you very much." "When you come back, the first thing we do is see Return of the King." "Our hearts can hide when it getd hard." We loved each other. If those letters are true, we loved each other.

I threw out the ghosts of things i intended to do and to be. Knitting needles and black and white film and student loan bills that have yet to be paid. I kept all of the photos. When i look at my younger self, i always think, "I was so much prettier than i thought i was back then." I wanted so many different things back then than i do today. But i don't even know what i want. I want to fall in love. I want to make more money. I want to stop feeling like so much of a fuck-up. I want to stop being haunted by the ghosts of who i used to be.

27 October 2006

Happy Birthday, Mr. Thomas.

Today is Dylan Thomas' birthday. He's one of my favorite poets. He died young, drunk and in New York at St. Vincent's Hospital. His last words were, "After 39 years, this is all I've done."

I like what he did. But his dying words bring to mind the Second of the Four Reminders, a Buddhist offering: death comes without warning. The First Reminder is of the preciousness of our human birth. They go hand in hand. Our lives are precious because they are fleeting. Achieving anything in our short lifetimes is a miracle. So i light this J for you, Dylan Thomas. And because it was drink, not weed, that served as your drug of choice, i lift a glass of whiskey to my lips as well. You impressed your heart onto the hearts of many people and refused to believe that you'd done anything worthwhile. Just like the rest of us.

On a less somber note, i found this little gem on newsoftheweird.com:
Least Competent Drug Agents: Just after federal and local narcotics agents cut down and bundled for destruction massive quantities of marijuana plants at a site in California's Marin County in September, officials reported that, despite security, 1,200 of the plants had been stolen before they could be taken away. [Detroit Free Press, 9-14-06] [Marin Independent Journal, 9-2-06]
I don't usually condone thievery, but in this case, I stand and applaud those who took back what the Feds stole.

Love to all,
SG










26 October 2006

I'm Not Having a Good Time...

with this whole being a person thing right now. My finances are in such a mess that ShittyBank blocked my accounts, both checking and savings. Banks can just do stuff like that. I remember once i deposited $200 in cash, along with some checks to an ATM. Never had a problem before, but a couple days later, i got a letter in the mail that said, "Please note that your deposit on xx/xx/xxxx was for $465, not $665, as indicated on your deposit slip. Please adjust your records." I called them, of course, to say, "What the fuck?" I even cried. Not in the-i'm-trying-to-get-out-of-a-parking-ticket kind of a way, but in the-my-rent's-due-in-two-days-and-you-have screwed-me-over kind of a way. ShittyBank said they would be conducting an investigation, which i'm sure went something like this:

"Hey, Gary. Did you happen to misplace $200 from this girl's deposit?"
"No."
"Ok. Thanks."

Then they sent me a letter saying that their investigation yielded no results.

I distinctly remember being Not-Stoned-Grrrl when i made that deposit. What was i supposed to do after they told me i was SOL for the 2-hunny? Hire a lawyer? If i'm crying over losing $200, does it make sense for me to take legal action? No. And they know that.

And you know what else? I fucking hate their ads that are so "Money's not the important thing. It's about spending time with your kids before they have kids and the seasons go 'round and 'round and you can't take it with you so let us handle your finances so you can be a provider of money as well as love."

But also, i know a lot of it is my fault. I'm not absolving ShittyBank or any other bank from being at least a little evil to po' folk like me. However, i know i spend too much money on weed and food. (Interesting. Maybe if i didn't get the munchies, i would spend less on food. But then i'd probably spend more on weed.) Am i the stoner stereotype? Whenever i screw up anything financially, i feel like such a non-person. The skills that i've been blessed with, while i consider them to be extremely important for the soul and heart, don't do much for keeping the body fed. Or clothed. I had to sell all my clothes to pay the electric bill and i'm writing this naked.

If i wanna be happy and financially solvent, i'm gonna have to start looking for a literary agent. I'm gonna have to start seeing myself as a writer who has something unique and necessary to share with the world. In other words, i'm gonna have to believe in myself more and work a little harder. I find myself daydreaming about the days when i'm able to pay rent and bills and student loans and have a little to put away for my dreamhouse on Prospect Park. I feel so financially and career-ily hopeless right now that the daydreams sadden me.

If my daydreams are bumming me out, it must be time to numb out. On to the toke.

love y'all,
SG

25 October 2006

I Have Betrayed Myself.

I haven't abandoned you, everybody! Though i'm sure a few of you thought that i was engaging in typical stoner behavior. Starting something off full force and then running at the first signs of success or duress. That ain't it. The minor Ex-drama, combined with two performances, puppy-sitting and a full day of work on Sunday didn't allow me to be a blogger. I was barely able to be a human being. I felt like a sack of skin that had somehow been animated enough to get on and off the subway.

Betrayal is where my hiatus started. Here's the story:

Last Thursday, i was out of weed. The Ex lives a block away from me and we're usually good about providing for one another if necessary. I called him and told him i wouldn't be home till 11.

"Is that too late?"
"Normally, no, but i won't be home."
"Oh."

In the last few weeks, we've had conversations that indicated his sleep-over habits. In the two-and-a-half years that we've been broken up (that's the official count, but we were still hanging out and having dinner and fucking for 18 months after we called it quits), neither of us had talked about dating. My relationship with The Ex was intense from start to finish. I was confused by disbelieving of the fact that any man besides my stepdad could love me. So i spent a lot of the relationship trying to convince The Ex that i wasn't deserving of love. Eventually he believed me and that's when we broke up.

Getting over The Ex was the hardest and best thing i have had to do so far in my life. But since he was the first man i loved who loved me back, i think it's pretty fair that a piece of him is still hanging around my heart. Last Thursday when he told me he wouldn't be home, i decided that i was finally strong enough to know if he was dating. But still too shy to ask over the phone, so i sent him this e-mail:

From: StonedGrrrl
To: The Ex
Date: Oct. 19th, 2:57pm
Subject: I don't want this to be a big deal, but

are you seeing someone?
i don't like you in
that way anymore or anything and i recognize that the details of any relationship you have aren't any of my business. but since we still move in the same social circles, i'd prefer to hear it from you than anyone else.
sorry if this is ridiculously awkward.
SG



He sent me this in response:

From: The Ex
To: StonedGrrrl
Date: Oct. 19th, 3:40pm
Subject: Re: I don't want this to be a big deal, but

SG,


We are under no obligation to discuss our personal lives beyond the point that we feel comfortable - regardless of our circle of friends. It is none of my business what you do or whom you see and I wouldn’t expect you to tell me that you were dating someone. Don’t confuse our earlier relationship with our current one. I like that we have stayed in touch but we have to respect each other’s personal boundaries. If I have something to share with you as a friend I will do so when I feel it is appropriate for our friendship. That goes for any friend I have. If I have to go out tonight late you can take that any way you wish but it has nothing to do with you and is none of your business.

I don’t mean to sound harsh because I am not angry I just want to be clear because I feel this is very important. We haven’t had any problems for a long time and I feel that it is because we have usually been very accessible to each other. But tonight I need to go out and I am sorry that I can’t help you out.

The Ex

I was stunned. The warmth that i feel from him when we hang out gave me no precedent for the sharpness of this e-mail. I will admit to you that when he and i were together, i was a crazy, hot mess. But we have both evolved a lot and we have managed to develop a friendship that is both respectful and kind. I mean, i thought it was. Here's what i wrote back:

From: StonedGrrrl
To: The Ex
Date: Oct. 19th, 2:57pm
Subject: I don't want this to be a big deal, but

what i envisioned when i wrote you was that you would say yes and i would say, "that's great. i hope you're happy. i hope she's nice." or you would say no, and i would make a joke like, "why not? you're a catch!" and then, having moved past that obstacle, we could move into like a jerry seinfeld/elaine bennis relationship where we could actually talk about the people we're seeing.

your response really hurt my feelings and made me question whether i want to be your friend. i asked if you were seeing someone because i finally felt like i was able to take the answer whatever it might be. maybe the e-mail translation didn't work, but i even tried to make it a little light-hearted.

i'm not confusing our earlier relationship with our current, but i do acknowledge the deep impact that our earlier relationship had on me. if i were seeing someone, i would tell you because anything that works out for me in the future has a lot to do with the painful lessons i learned with you. i know you said you weren't angry, but i infer from the tone of your e-mail that you must have incredibly deep feelings of resentment toward me. it makes me question whether you want to be my friend.

i'm so upset with you right now. i didn't deserve the harshness of your e-mail and i deserve to be treated better by someone who calls himself my friend.

i'll read this in the morning and perhaps regret it, but right now it is how i feel.

SG

He wrote back and apologized and said he was taken aback by the timing of my question, blah blah blah.

I think his being taken aback was a good thing. It made him show his true colors, so to speak, in terms of how he feel about me. His e-mail showed me that deep down he doesn't really trust me. Just like how one's family can't really see one as anything but a ten-year-old, he continues to see me as the overly fragile, self-absorbed person that i used to be, despite the fact that i have evolved past that. Often when i've gotten in touch with him to hang out, i feel that he's suspicious that i still have a thing for him or that i'm gonna crumble into pieces again. Whether or not he realizes that he's sending out those feelings of mistrust and suspicion, i am receiving them. And it feels really shitty to be on the receiving end.

I think his being taken aback was a very good thing. For a while, i had been telling myself that i was so happy that things between us were solid and that we were still really good friends. His e-mail forced me to re-evaluate that perspective. It's very telling that he writes, " I like that we have stayed in touch but we have to respect each other's personal boundaries, " instead of "i like that we have stayed friends." He's right; we've stayed in touch. But what i see now is that we hang out when one of needs weed or at parties. That's barely a friendship.

It strikes me that this all came down over my lack of weed. The Ex and i were stoned for most of our relationship. I was often too strung out to see things as they really were and instead developed paranoid situations in my mind of him cheating on me and telling all of his friends that i was worthless. Who knows if it would have been any better without weed?

I want The Ex to move away and never talk to me again and at the same time, i want him back so i can prove to him that i'm not the selfish, manipulative, scared little girl i was when we were together. I've been over him for a while now and have dated and kissed and been naked with other boys since him. I feel betrayed by my own emotions that i should even be entertaining the thought of getting back together with him. But what do i do if that's really how i feel?

I'm letting his scrap of a friendship go for now. Even though we don't hang out that much, i see now that it's been a burden on my heart to keep thinking of him as my friend.
It's too tiring to worry constantly if i have or if i'm going to cross a line with him. It's too tiring not to be trusted. It's too tiring to keep thinking i've made amends only to discover that he still has some very negative feelings toward me. Maybe, after all i put him through, (and ladies and gentlemen, it was A LOT), i don't deserve to be his friend.

Oh, well.

Anyone in NYC check out the Stony Awards last night? Who won? Lemme know.

SG

p.s. i missed you guys.

20 October 2006

I'm pissed.

It has to do with the Ex. Everyone loves a good ex-boyfriend rant, right? At the moment, though, all i can think to write is "fuck you. fuck you. fuck you." Seriously. Anything that isn't "fuck you. fuck you. fuck you," had to be written and typed by my roommate.

Check this space out tomorrow after i have cooled down and regretted the e-mail i just sent to him.

Oh, boy. I hope i haven't lost a friend.

SG

18 October 2006

A Few Answers

A late rehearsal. Tomorrow morning, an early class. I don't wanna be up all night, so i'm gonna answer a few of your questions and call it a day.

  • I'm 27.
  • I'm black.
  • I'm straight and single, but i don't want to use this blog as a dating service.
  • I've been in NYC for nine years.
  • I grew up in Michigan.
  • My educational background is in theatre, yoga, buddhism, and writing.
  • I smoked my first bowl with Missy Tejada and Billy McDaniels when i was 16.
  • I lean far to the left politically.
  • I don't know why this country hasn't legalized weed yet.
  • This is my favorite song.
Please keep reading and asking questions. I care what you guys think.

SG

17 October 2006

The Hulk

I make art most of the time. In one way or another. I had an office job as a sales assistant at a children's book publishing house for several months after college and i was really bad at it. Don't ever hire me to be your secretary. I can't even type that fast.

After getting fired, i collected unemployment and was able to figure out a way to make money without sacrificing the time i dedicate to theatre and writing. And it's actually something i love to do, so it's even more of a bonus. I am in awe of people who work a 9 to 5 (or as is more often the case these days, 9 - 7). Working in an office made me feel like my body was collapsing from the inside. I could barely hold my head up. I'm not even that lazy and i enjoy getting up in the morning, but the thought of returning to my little cubicle each day of the week made me shiver and cry. And throw things. I'm not kidding. One morning i got so angry, i ripped my shirt off, Incredible Hulk-style.

My relationship with weed was at its worst then. The whole day i sat at my desk and made small talk with so many Long Island girls about "American Idol," i was fantasizing about the bong hit waiting for me when i returned home. I could see my 6 o'clock self happily drowning under the haze of weed and the warmth and weight of my covers. I wasn't trying to sleep; i wanted to sink into the center of the Earth and never resurface. I hated leaving my bed; it usually meant i was getting ready for work.

Thank God i've re-prioritized my life. The fear of returning to a 9 to 5 creeps in around the time i have to pay rent. And i don't have insurance. But i do have thousands of dollars in student loans. I'm happier, though, on a day to day basis. I sacrificied a steady income for being able to like waking up in the morning. And i'll probably marry rich anyway, so...

SG

16 October 2006

We'll Float.

An easy day. Much needed after the weight of my weekend. Unfortunately, for you, dear readers, i find it harder to find things about which to write when life is going well. I think God makes people suffer because he likes art.

Questions i've thought about today:

Why does pot make food taste better?
Why is it easier to talk to my mom when i'm stoned?
Why did i choose pot instead of cocaine?
How long am i gonna be smoking pot?
Am i a better writer when i'm stoned?

I'm drinking a white russian right now. My roommate is taking her boyfriend's blood pressure. The foster kitty is mewing. Now. Now. Now. These are things that are happening right now. They are small things, but they are important because they are happening now. Right now i am breathing. The manager at my grocery store says that breathing is a hard habit to kick. Smoking cigarettes is, too. Can you keep up with the tangents of this post? My mind, like all minds, goes to about 600 places in one minute. I can't type fast enough to take you with me on all of those trips, but i can give you a brief, disjointed tour of the workings of my body-mind-spirit state, which i'm pretty sure is similar to all the other body-mind-spirit states out there. Even if what i write doesn't make sense, your mind will work to make it make sense. That's what human minds do; they categorize and label so as to have enough structure and grounding to remember faces of friends and family and associated feelings and moods. We can make sense where there is no sense to be made.

But what does any of this have to do with weed? I'm trying to contain this post and give it some backbone or an axis or some point of reference, but the words seem to be getting away from me. That happens sometimes. I feel guilty calling myself a writer since so many of my stories write themselves. They introduce themselves to me, sit down and tell me what they have to say. It's up to me to make them solid, as solid as words can be. But right now, i don't have much solidity in me and i don't want my words, too, either. Fluid. Loose. Flowing. Confusing. Muddled. There is always time to understand. But how often are we in complete understanding of our surroundings? It is rare for me; more often than not, i am surrounded by perplexing circumstances. As soon as i see the light of one situation, another cloudy, misunderstood drama arises to block out that light. One of my teachers said to me, "The spiritual life is 'I don't know.'" I like that so much.

Confused. Perplexed. Misunderstood. Rest there. Rest with your feet unsupported and your head in the clouds. You will either land or keep floating.

SG

15 October 2006

Friends

I'm getting high with my friends right now. I haven't been stoned with them in a long time. The room in which i type this blog is a few feet away from where they eat and talk and giggle. FunGuy has the His Dark Materials trilogy on his bookshelf. Please read that.

FunGuy is telling his story about how he had an allergic reaction to aspirin on a plane. His lungs felt itchy and he broke out in hives.

I feel the pull of my friends. What can i tell you about them so you'll understand the brevity and perhaps bad punctuation of my post? They are intelligent, compassionate, creative, genuine people. Honest and loyal. They're my saviors and my angels. I've known them for almost the whole time i've been in NYC. I don't often imagine what my life would be like without them.

When i was in the third grade, they transferred me away from my friends to a school on the other side of town. I had been smart and well-liked and had a lot of playmates from kindergarten to the second grade. I was on the fast track to popularity. At my new school, the popular girls were bitchy, upper-middle class girls. They were snobby and rude and they cut you in half if you threatened to be smarter or prettier or more noticed than you. I didn't know that at the time; i simply believed them when they tolf me i wasn't ugly, but not that pretty. I remember sending notes like:
List in order of who you like best:
Kirsten
Julia
Sarah
Me


In return, i received:

Julia
Kirsten
Me
Sarah


At least i wasn't last. I didn't like these girls, but they were popular and that's what i was used to. So i broke into their clique by teasing girls less popular than me and thus worked up the third-grade food chain.

But i didn't like anyone else, either. Popular, non-popular, smart, dumb: these weren't my friends. After that year was over and i was returned to my original school, i vowed to choose solitude over bad company.

Thank God i don't have to make that choice now.

SG

Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend...

But i work on the weekends, so you won't hear from me that often on Saturdays. A grrrl needs to rest. I'll update the blog before i go to sleep tonight. In the meantime, though, i have a few miles to go.

xo.

SG

13 October 2006

I Am Home and I Want To Go Home.

I'm depressed. I am home and i want to go home. Some days are like these. My life has been going on at what seems to be a relentless clip. Does no one get to rest nowadays? Businessmen, doctors, mothers, artists, yoga teachers, secretaries, garbagemen, postal workers, actors, retail clerks, clergymen, dads, editors, students, people. No one gets a break. No one stops. When i stop, i worry that i'm missing something i'm supposed to be doing.

Weed is no longer always the insta-calm that i used to rely on it to be. I consider this a good thing. If weed won't work every time, then i'm either gonna have to move on to harder stuff or learn how to relax. And i'm not moving on to harder stuff before i'm 35. For a long time, i assumed that i would always be relaxed after i smoked. But often what i've called "relaxed" has instead been a state of stagnation. In this state, the body doesn't move much, but the jaw is clenched, the hands are in fists, the shoulders are tight. This is the opposite of relaxation. This is when it's a good idea for me to take a break.

Do you guys out there take breaks? How come? How often and how long? I think, as with any healthy relationship, there needs to be space. I wish i could forever experience and appreciate weed they way i do the first time after a long break. But that's asking a lot of weed. Perhaps it's a catch-22. If i could relax more, i would enjoy weed more. But if i could relax more, would i want weed?

I don't use weed solely for relaxing. In your answers to the question, "why do you smoke?" a few of you point out that weed helps you to bring the magnificence of little, ordinary things to the surface. I, too, love that about weed. I miss the little, ordinary things because i'm going too fast most of the time. Could i stand to slow down a little when i'm sober instead of waiting for weed to catch the grace of an ordinary moment? To use the relationship metaphor again, i don't want to put expectations on weed that are more about me needing to develop certain traits rather than weed fulfilling the things that i lack. I want to smoke weed because it's weed, not because i don't know what i'd do without it.

This isn't the funnest post. But remember the contest? You could win something. That's fun.

Happy Friday the 13th, lovelies.

SG

12 October 2006

A Contest!!! Yea!!!

The Grand Opening of my blog is a perfect time to have a contest. Though at this stage of the game, i worry that no one will enter and i'll end up looking like a loser. I shan't let the worry stop me. I blog on in the hope that the combination of time, perseverence and good writing will make this blog a successful one. What does successful mean when it comes to blogs anyway? Whatever.

I mentioned in my second post that i dislike the term "stoner." I like being "stoned," but "stoner" makes me feel like i should have long, greasy hair hidden under a baseball cap turned backwards and hang out at the mall when i should be in PE. My apologies if any of you are wearing backwards-facing baseball caps over untamed hair with plans to skip class and hang out at Briarwood Mall tomorrow. But if you don't have any by now, you must begin to develop some self-awareness to realize that you are what people mean when they say, "Stoner."

I may take this back later, but i think perhaps one of the reasons i wanted to start this blog is because i and so many of my friends defy the stoner stereotype. I want to show the many faces of weed-smokers, from the tried and true stoner stereotype to your mother's best friend who still gets high on the weekends.

I'm leaving it up to you to come up with a new term for "stoner," one that more accurately labels who you are, who we all might be, when it comes to our relationship to weed. Send me your ideas for a term that replaces and elevates the term and connotation of "stoner." Enter as many times as you want. I'll choose the one i like the best. As a thank-you, i'll buy you one $10 item (I'll throw in for shipping and handling, but s&h shouldn't cost more than the price of the item itself.) from your Amazon Wish List. I promise. I really will. Let's say the contest starts whenever i get the first entry and ends on November 15th. The winner will be announced on November 20th and said winner will be compensated by November 27th.

Remember, though, whatever label we come up with, it’s just a label.


One more thing before i call it a night. As i went about my business this afternoon on the lovely isle of Manhattan, i spied a cute boy with whom i wanted to make eye contact. Alas, he was looking at the ground. Alack, as i passed him, i stepped in dog shit.

Dog Owners, please clean up after your dogs.

Cute Boys, please look up so i can meet your gaze.

Love to all.

SG

11 October 2006

I Have a Fear of Commitment.

An anonymous commenter had some kind words to throw my way and at the end of his post, he wrote that a "true true true stoner would NEVER be without." He wonders about my commitment to stonerdom.


I fall into the category of those who smoke several times a day. By the time my stash is dwindling, i usually feel like i’ve oversmoked and want to take a couple days off before i smoke again. That first puff after a break seems to approach nirvana. And then, about once a year, i quit for several weeks. The first puff after that long is disorienting, but i manage to get the hang of it.

Speaking of nirvana, this idea that there can be a true stoner and therefore, a false stoner, reminds me of junior high. Nirvana was pushing through to mainstream music. If you had been listening to them before the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video came out, you were really committed to alternative music and therefore, cool. If you had Nevermind memorized in its entirety, not just the singles, you were really committed to alternative music, and therefore cool. If you wore combat boots (especially if you were a girl), you were really committed to alternative music, and therefore, you were really cool. Pity the fool who said he was into Pearljam, but didn't know the song "Garden." Upon such a one was bestowed the dreaded, impossible-to live-down title:

POSER.

I used the word "therefore" a lot in that paragraph.

I welcome all levels of commitment in this space. I think people who smoke several times a day and those who toke every now and again have something to say and probably, something to learn from one another. If you're reading a blog about weed and especially if you're commenting on it, i gotta believe that you have a strong interest in the subject. And, like with music, this is a question of taste. The stoner who smokes several times a day can't understand how someone can like weed, but only smoke it a couple times a month. The occasional smoker can't understand how i can wake-and-bake like other people drink coffee.

We only have the totality of our own experience. So if being committed to weed is important to you, then by all means, make clear what that commitment is and follow those parameters. Let’s each of us express our commitment in our own way. In regards to all things. Not just weed.

I love that you're reading and posting. Tell your friends... and your enemies. Maybe weed will bring you together.

much love.


10 October 2006

And That Is Why I Smoke Weed.

So this is exciting. People are reading and some are posting comments. A couple of you have asked very provocative questions and i think that's great. More on those specific questions later.

I think i'm going to begin to broken record this to death, but i encourage to post comments. I know that she's a newborn, but this blog is largely going to be shaped by the people who read it. The questions you ask, the subjects you broach, the jokes you make are all going to help me steer this blog into a positive, unique direction, instead of into the deep, dark abyss of the blogosphere. But remember, be good boys and girls. It's only weed.

An anonymous poster asked me why i smoke pot. I suppose at this point i'm addicted, which is fine. I'm not trying to belittle addiction at all, but every single person is addicted to something or someone. We all have something we need to get rid of, but instead tie to our backs like we were strapping a canoe onto a station wagon. Trying to pretend as if there's a hierarchy for addiction is only going to reinforce the idea that certain kinds of people are addicts. You, me, and everyone we know. And as far as what i'm carrying on my back, i think i'm ok with what i got this time ‘round.

So what is it that i think i need that only pot can give me? Perspective. In a journal entry, April 2005, written with my left hand, i debate "whether weed fools me into thinking that everything is going to be ok or if, in fact, everything is going to be ok, and weed helps me see that more clearly." Thus far, everything has been ok. Scary things happen and i seem to survive them. We all do; or else we don’t, but that’s life. Like Siddhartha was to discover, life is suffering.

One of my teachers recently told us that suffering was an extreme translation and that the Buddha meant something more like, "life is chafing." It's awkward. It's uncomfortable. There is, of course, terrible suffering, but even when things are going well, there's often a weight hanging in the air. The weight of knowing that things can't stay gold forever.

Weed seems to help me have perspective about my own suffering. Of course, that perspective can be a little bit off. There are plenty of things that i worry about needlessly and weed often helps me let those things go. But then again, there are things that i should be concerned with and weed sometimes relaxes me to the point of laziness. I've been smoking long enough that i can see when it's happening and manage to get my ass in gear. Most of the time.

I think New York is the best city to have a good, hopefully not-so-paranoid stone on. I can see the dirty beauty of Brooklyn so sharply when i walk around my neighborhood, buzzed and smiling. A summer night, walking around the park, stoned: it makes me feel infinite.

And that is why i smoke weed: an essay by StonedGrrrl.

My answer will be different next week. I'll let you know when i think of more reasons. How about you guys? Why do you smoke? (In my effort to make commenting as easy as possible, questions that i want specific feedback on will be in bold. This doesn't mean that you have to answer those questions. But if anyone out there wants to participate and is feeling a little shy, i wanna be able to give a little guidance and structure)

That's all for now, kiddies. Tune in tomorrow when we find out if, in the words of one commenter, i am a "committed" stoner or not.

xo.

No Pussies, Please.

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09 October 2006

Labor.

"He's never early, he's always late,
first thing you learn is that you always gotta wait."

The Guy i have right now is actually pretty good about being on time, as far as drug dealers go. He's usually here within 30 minutes of ETA and a few times, he's been early. Only twice has he been unbearably late. I had to use my "i mean business" tone the first time. And this evening, he was 117 minutes late. I didn't notice much of his tardiness because The Ex and i were busy taking offensively cute pictures of the stupidly cute kitty.

When The Guy did arrived, he said, "First the traffic and then my girl goes into labor."

OK. That's a pretty good excuse. But, also, what the fuck?

I have talked to his girlfriend a couple of times. He had to use her phone for deals after he lost his. There's no way she smokes pot. Her voice is like vibrating silk. And mine? Like crunching gravel. I don't mind; it's working for Marianne Faithfull. Anyway, The Guy's girlfriend was always nice and sounded pretty and i hope she's not alone and scared in some horribly lit hospital room because i wanted to get high.

The clock on my cell phone has gradually, over the course of three or four months, moved forward in time. It is now 8 minutes faster than the microwave and the computer, which were both originally set off of the cell. Why is this happening? I don't want to pretend i'm 8 minutes in the future. Perhaps i would like to, in fact, be 8 minutes in the future. Perhaps, like the clock on my c-phone, i will gradually begin to move ahead of my roommate, my friends, my fellow subway commuters. At first, everyone will just think that i'm becoming very psychic. But then, i will grow farther and farther away from everyone. They'll interact with the shadow of me and i will talk to their projections. I'll touch the man i'll fall in love with, but his skin will feel like slightly moist sand and i won't be able to hold him too tightly. This will be a good lesson for me.

I know that there are all sorts of holes in that scenario. There always are when it comes to time travel. Please read Einstein's Dreams. Back to the Future II is on. It's no Godfather II, but as sequels go, it's very watchable. Someone once explained to all the holes in BTTFII, but i have since forgotten them. Who cares? It's made up.

Somewhere in brooklyn, The Guy's girlfriend is moving past 4 centimeters. Let's wish them luck.

08 October 2006

Waiting.

I'm not stoned right now. I am fucking tired and i have a headache, though, so perhaps my fatigued/pained writing style will emulate my stoned writing style.

I'm waiting for my man. The Ex is coming over to take pictures of the kitty i rescued two weeks ago. Anybody want a kitty? I'll upload a photo in the next post.

I don't have a lot to say about weed at the moment. Usually, at this moment, when i am out of weed and am waiting for the arrival of replenishment, my knuckles are a lot whiter. I think my headache is precluding anxiety. More after the puff.
 

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