don't mean nobody harm I'm just partyin'
In theory, I don't condemn drug use. Everyone has the right to make their own decisions, and neither I nor any other third party has the right to judge or preach. Things get a little more complicated if there are, say, children getting neglected because someone is busy nodding or someone is using my tax euros to cover their medical costs after getting hepatitis, but the basic principle is there.
I'm not your dad, not your mom, not your guardian.
This stance of mine was tested last weekend when I came into contact with drugs in real life for the first time (yes, I lead a sheltered life - intentionally). One of N's friends, L2, is moving to another city and threw a going-away party to his mates on Saturday. We'd been there a couple of hours when a stash of marijuana made an appearance. I was a little surprised but didn't really digest what was happening until the smell spread through the apartment.
It was sweet, thick and all-permeating, and I had to get out of there. No one even smoked, they were just rolling the joints for later use, but I just couldn't be in the same room with that smell.
I don't disapprove recreational drug use but due to my issues with alcohol it's hard for me to truly approve either. I don't like any mind-altering substances. The thought of myself (or someone) else is a state where I cannot control all my actions and reactions is abominable to me. You stop being who you are, and there's nothing worse than that. This applies to even fiction and causes rather intense dislike for even your average drunkenness.
My thoughts on this weekend keep going around and around in my head, and I don't know when it'll stop. Was this Saturday about how I see him or how I see myself?
I'm not your dad, not your mom, not your guardian.
This stance of mine was tested last weekend when I came into contact with drugs in real life for the first time (yes, I lead a sheltered life - intentionally). One of N's friends, L2, is moving to another city and threw a going-away party to his mates on Saturday. We'd been there a couple of hours when a stash of marijuana made an appearance. I was a little surprised but didn't really digest what was happening until the smell spread through the apartment.
It was sweet, thick and all-permeating, and I had to get out of there. No one even smoked, they were just rolling the joints for later use, but I just couldn't be in the same room with that smell.
I don't disapprove recreational drug use but due to my issues with alcohol it's hard for me to truly approve either. I don't like any mind-altering substances. The thought of myself (or someone) else is a state where I cannot control all my actions and reactions is abominable to me. You stop being who you are, and there's nothing worse than that. This applies to even fiction and causes rather intense dislike for even your average drunkenness.
My thoughts on this weekend keep going around and around in my head, and I don't know when it'll stop. Was this Saturday about how I see him or how I see myself?