I’m less of an asshole when I’m stoned. If we are going to start segregating society into different slashtroverts with various social impairments can we at least agree not all the substances out there have consistent effects? I know when you get stoned it means you are stupid and silly. Being “stoned” has classic connotations that vary depending on your generation and cultural identity. I personally feel way more stoned on an opiate than cannabis. Some people take adderall to feel normal. Others take it because it’s an amphetamine. Vices exist in every corner of our psyche but are differently governed depending on your flavor of upbringing.

The high I get from smoking plant matter has a similar medicinal aspect that I associate with Irish whiskey. A little bit makes me forget the pain – too much makes me go to sleep. I’ve learned the difference after years of experimenting with my own limits. I know how hard I can be spanked before it’s intolerable. I know the appropriate acid dose for tripping in public with no one caring. I know what size cock fits inside my vagina before it’s going to hurt too much to be worth it. I know how much weed to smoke every morning to make me pleasant at work all day. As important as the Prozac I’m prescribed for depression, smoking a bowl is the only way I’ve found to get through the day.

Once in the 90s I got so stoned on kind bud I came up the most mind blowing theory evar. I considered smoking pot so integral to daily life I theorized a secret society where the people who realize smoking pot is not actually evil are the ones who get to be adults. The greatest of pranks, some people go through their whole pathetic ignorant lives not being happy thinking that for some reason happy is bad.  In reality it’s just enlightened ones watching the struggle and making internet memes to try and assuage the unnecessary existential pain tormenting most of humanity. I was really high that night.

I stand by the integrity of my training. I did it their way for years. By 30 I had everything a young urban professional in middle American could want. Dogs, cats, a loving marriage, no kids. The dream. It wasn’t what I really wanted. I was programmed with a need for security and upon finding the safest place to turtle, I set up camp. Turns out camping is a truly boring way to live life. I get the idea of relaxing but a turtle carries its shell. Backing into a corner and not coming out until every threat is eliminated is not the life I want. Winning that game feels hollow.

So I move on to other games. I’ll dance with the reindeer and jump through flaming hoops. Do a two step over flaming coals while reciting the pledge of allegiance. Anything to fill the void left where my dignity used to be. So much confidence crossing the desert. No care for the heat and no fear of cold.