(no subject)
I got stoned last night with a girl I used to work with. It was awesome but I realised that in the middle of the conversation I was telling her a really complicated thing -- it wouldn't be right to call it a story -- about something quasi-academic that I now forget. But I remember thinking at the time that this topic was more appropriate at someplace other than the couch of a work friend. I do remember explaining what benzos were.
I had a fantastic walk home. The noise of the traffic was merely soothing and when I got to McDonalds I bought a large cheeseburger meal with a Fanta (I wanted Fanta because I thought it would be better than Coke stoned). The pickle was amazing: for the few seconds that I was biting into and chewing and then swallowing the part of the burger that had the pickle in it, I was in a small bubble of isolated pickle bliss.
As I was walking home from Maccas I planned a Dreamwidth/Tumblr entry where I said the following:
I'm glad I don't do this more often, because I have an overwhelming urge to do nothing more productive than look up food gifs and listen to my "Everybody Must Get Stoned" playlist on iTunes.
This is all true, except what I did do when I got home was have a shower and lie in bed reading rather a lot, blissfully warm under the covers, drinking a cup of tea.
Sometimes my weird, stupid problems with procrastination and procrastination anxiety are so acute that I feel ridiculously neurotic and demoralised. I'm glad I don't smoke more weed than I do, because I've rarely known a chronic pot smoker who doesn't have some sort of problem with motivation. But it is a relief to do very little that is productive and for once not to feel guilty about it.
tl;dr THIS IS ME LAST NIGHT:
I had a fantastic walk home. The noise of the traffic was merely soothing and when I got to McDonalds I bought a large cheeseburger meal with a Fanta (I wanted Fanta because I thought it would be better than Coke stoned). The pickle was amazing: for the few seconds that I was biting into and chewing and then swallowing the part of the burger that had the pickle in it, I was in a small bubble of isolated pickle bliss.
As I was walking home from Maccas I planned a Dreamwidth/Tumblr entry where I said the following:
I'm glad I don't do this more often, because I have an overwhelming urge to do nothing more productive than look up food gifs and listen to my "Everybody Must Get Stoned" playlist on iTunes.
This is all true, except what I did do when I got home was have a shower and lie in bed reading rather a lot, blissfully warm under the covers, drinking a cup of tea.
Sometimes my weird, stupid problems with procrastination and procrastination anxiety are so acute that I feel ridiculously neurotic and demoralised. I'm glad I don't smoke more weed than I do, because I've rarely known a chronic pot smoker who doesn't have some sort of problem with motivation. But it is a relief to do very little that is productive and for once not to feel guilty about it.
- Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 // Bob Dylan [of course]
- Get Miles // Gomez
- Planet Telex // Radiohead
- Purple Haze // Jimi Hendrix
tl;dr THIS IS ME LAST NIGHT: