XXXI or XXXIIIIV
Yesterday i turned 31 years old for the first time. I considered the occasion to be the death of the possibility that i could ever be considered a role model, and so i decided to do some potsmoking for the first time in my dumb life.
In reality, i am known to succumb to peer pressure very easily. The twist is that i succumb to peer pressure with a 9-year delay. And so i just now succumbed to a peer pressure from november 1998. I am so feeble.
The potsmoking resulted in one of the least great times i have had in ages. It was too much like being drunk, except drunk while superimposed on a sine wave, which hiccups and turns into a cosine wave every 1.7 seconds or so. That makes it sound more interesting than it actually was.
I was unimpressed. Except the way that i found my inner dialog to be functioning, i was reiterating this fact to myself thusly:
"Hey, this is unimpressive."
"I am unimpressed."
" am unimpressed. I"
"am unimpressed. I "
"m unimpressed. I a"
" unimpressed. I am"
"unimpressed. I am "
"nimpressed. I am u"
"impressed. I am un"
"mpressed. I am uni"
"pressed. I am unim"
And so on.
To be honest, my inner dialog (which is the same entity which is writing this very sentence, and this very entry, and everything else i have ever wrote or talked to people about, etc.) is sort of an imposing fellow within my brain as it is. And suddenly i found that it had been amplified eversomuch more, which caused me to worry about my brain vessel and its ability to contain such an obnoxious run of echoed and back-tripping thought sentences. It was worrying.
This is maybe the reason that i started to have a six-hour-long panic attack. Luckily it was different enough from a normal panic attack so that i could sleep through large swaths of it. I decided that the proper environment for riding out the panic attack was as low to the ground as possible, just like any other panic attack. Standing in the kitchen was bad. Sitting on the couch was bad. The dining room floor was a good enough spot. I laid down.
I was thirstier than i've ever been in my life. I drank a lot of water, but my gums still felt way dry. That was weird. I was given some water and then i laid down on the dining room floor again. The panic attack was different from a normal panic attack because it did not have the hyperventilation. The panic attack was mostly contained within the head. Or maybe it wasn't, but i was only paying attention to the effects that were making themselves known above the neck.
Also, it seemed to be a panic attack which was superimposed on a sine wave and would turn into a cosine wave at unawares and ultimately it could not catch up to itself, and so it could never be a full-fledged panic attack. But it was still a weird and bad panic attack. Or perhaps it is just the type of panic attack that you have while your brain is occupied with the task of not functioning properly.
My friends did not think that i was reacting correctly, and i agreed, and so did my panic attack, which i will name "Jntembe", posthumously. They gave us a pillow and blankets and more water, and Jntembe and i kept the dining room floor company throughout the night.
In conclusion, i do not know what all of the hubbub is about. I did not consider potsmoking to be very much fun at all, and actually much closer to the opposite of fun. Although i know that it is all due to my backwards and feeble brain vessel. It probably also did not help that i had introduced nothing much more strange than alcohol into my always under-prepared physiology for more than thirty years, and then allofasudden i decided to introduce three monstrous bong hits to it over the course of ten minutes. Awww yeah!(?)
Even nineteen hours later i can still sense a bit of a discontinuity in the way my inner dialog is accustomed to functioning, which is disconcerting. It is true that i have a history of brain feebleness and an illogical subservience to head chemistries. Including depressions, including panic attacks, including bouts with ridiculous levels of anxiety. I hope that i have not triggered a hatch which was doing its best to contain demonns of mental illness. A la Syd Barrett. Oh, to wreck oneself like Syd Barrett. That would be sort of bad. But maybe i am worrying too much. Mostly i am just very very weary and want to sleep for a week.
Happy Birthday To ME!
Maybe marijuana should remain illegal after all, because as far as i'm concerned it seems to be a fucking jackass.
Worst of all, a completely innocent and 90% full two-liter bottle of tonic water was sacrificed in order to assemble the smoking contraption. Today i mourn all of the gin & tonics who never had the chance to exist.
Anyways, we can strike that shit off of the list, i guess.
In reality, i am known to succumb to peer pressure very easily. The twist is that i succumb to peer pressure with a 9-year delay. And so i just now succumbed to a peer pressure from november 1998. I am so feeble.
The potsmoking resulted in one of the least great times i have had in ages. It was too much like being drunk, except drunk while superimposed on a sine wave, which hiccups and turns into a cosine wave every 1.7 seconds or so. That makes it sound more interesting than it actually was.
I was unimpressed. Except the way that i found my inner dialog to be functioning, i was reiterating this fact to myself thusly:
"Hey, this is unimpressive."
"I am unimpressed."
" am unimpressed. I"
"am unimpressed. I "
"m unimpressed. I a"
" unimpressed. I am"
"unimpressed. I am "
"nimpressed. I am u"
"impressed. I am un"
"mpressed. I am uni"
"pressed. I am unim"
And so on.
To be honest, my inner dialog (which is the same entity which is writing this very sentence, and this very entry, and everything else i have ever wrote or talked to people about, etc.) is sort of an imposing fellow within my brain as it is. And suddenly i found that it had been amplified eversomuch more, which caused me to worry about my brain vessel and its ability to contain such an obnoxious run of echoed and back-tripping thought sentences. It was worrying.
This is maybe the reason that i started to have a six-hour-long panic attack. Luckily it was different enough from a normal panic attack so that i could sleep through large swaths of it. I decided that the proper environment for riding out the panic attack was as low to the ground as possible, just like any other panic attack. Standing in the kitchen was bad. Sitting on the couch was bad. The dining room floor was a good enough spot. I laid down.
I was thirstier than i've ever been in my life. I drank a lot of water, but my gums still felt way dry. That was weird. I was given some water and then i laid down on the dining room floor again. The panic attack was different from a normal panic attack because it did not have the hyperventilation. The panic attack was mostly contained within the head. Or maybe it wasn't, but i was only paying attention to the effects that were making themselves known above the neck.
Also, it seemed to be a panic attack which was superimposed on a sine wave and would turn into a cosine wave at unawares and ultimately it could not catch up to itself, and so it could never be a full-fledged panic attack. But it was still a weird and bad panic attack. Or perhaps it is just the type of panic attack that you have while your brain is occupied with the task of not functioning properly.
My friends did not think that i was reacting correctly, and i agreed, and so did my panic attack, which i will name "Jntembe", posthumously. They gave us a pillow and blankets and more water, and Jntembe and i kept the dining room floor company throughout the night.
In conclusion, i do not know what all of the hubbub is about. I did not consider potsmoking to be very much fun at all, and actually much closer to the opposite of fun. Although i know that it is all due to my backwards and feeble brain vessel. It probably also did not help that i had introduced nothing much more strange than alcohol into my always under-prepared physiology for more than thirty years, and then allofasudden i decided to introduce three monstrous bong hits to it over the course of ten minutes. Awww yeah!(?)
Even nineteen hours later i can still sense a bit of a discontinuity in the way my inner dialog is accustomed to functioning, which is disconcerting. It is true that i have a history of brain feebleness and an illogical subservience to head chemistries. Including depressions, including panic attacks, including bouts with ridiculous levels of anxiety. I hope that i have not triggered a hatch which was doing its best to contain demonns of mental illness. A la Syd Barrett. Oh, to wreck oneself like Syd Barrett. That would be sort of bad. But maybe i am worrying too much. Mostly i am just very very weary and want to sleep for a week.
Happy Birthday To ME!
Maybe marijuana should remain illegal after all, because as far as i'm concerned it seems to be a fucking jackass.
Worst of all, a completely innocent and 90% full two-liter bottle of tonic water was sacrificed in order to assemble the smoking contraption. Today i mourn all of the gin & tonics who never had the chance to exist.
Anyways, we can strike that shit off of the list, i guess.