Let me take you through a typical Sunday for me. First, I wake up around 7 or 8am, still incredibly stoned from the night before. All I was able to accomplish was food. So, I ate something especially sugary. Then, the next part depends on how stoned or hungover I was feeling that day. This past Sunday, I was able to take a walk around my neighborhood at 7am. It was pleasant and the weather was great. That’s all I really remember from that walk. And something about toilet snakes. I don’t believe I encountered a toilet snake on my walk, but I am convinced that the podcast [The Rad Dudecast] I was listening to was discussing them. I got back home and had the energy to put my laundry away and pick up my bedroom a bit. I was proud of myself and my accomplishments. I somehow made it to lay down on my bed and passed out for four hours. When I rose from the dead, I wasn’t sure who I was or what day it was anymore.
A different Sunday went a little more like this. I woke up, still stoned again. If I had taken any type of edible the night before, I am terrible with dosing so that I wouldn’t be incredibly messed up the next day. I still woke up around 8am though, and stumbled to the bathroom like a newborn giraffe who had just fallen out of the birth canal of the mother and couldn’t figure out gravity. Since I didn’t fall back asleep on the toilet, I finished up and made it to my living room where my roommate was sitting there, grossly awake. My head was so hazy that I think I held a partial, incoherent conversation with her stupid, awake ass (love you, appreciate all you do for me.) Realizing that I am not well, I picked my dizzy, vertigo having ass back up and made it to my bed, and slept until 3pm. This time though, I woke up refreshed and stable on my feet. Except, my day was gone.
This seems to happen every Sunday, and some Saturdays. As I look back while writing this, I think maybe I have a problem. I know I’m not physically addicted to weed but I 100% use it as a crutch for my emotional well-being. I have some skills developed over many years of therapy that I should be using to help myself but it is difficult when the physical symptoms of depression and anxiety take over. I can’t help myself feel good when there is a boulder of stress on my back. This is why I try to walk frequently. The exercise and nature help my stress but sometimes it’s not enough…
Take care, reader. Until next time.
Lavender Skies 