You know when everything's going all right and you think you are a little invincible and you sort of just go "Aww fuck it" and you risk all your hard work and everything for a little high?
Yeah, well, as we all know with the chilling clarity of sobriety, there is no 'win situation' from pushing our luck - or even tempting fate, or riding the plateau, or (and I don't even know what this means) chasing the dragon.
What happens is before you even have time to absorb the insidious mind cram of the high, you are transported instantly back to that time you were strung out - crawling around the house on a weekday looking for butt ends or a skerrick of a joint. Even just a bit of a butt, or the teensiest scrap of smokeable grit you could transform into a high and the escape from the doldrums of sobering up.
Sure, the headache of the hangover can be sweetened by lying back and just well lying there, but nothing beats a hangover like doing it again before the hangover has time to fully deaden into what you think is the grim tooth-grind of reality.
Yeah, since this blog is my church, and I certainly can't say my body had been my temple lately (unless you count the offerings of chocolate and ice cream and other assorted sweet crap) - I have a confession to make and it is embarrassing and frankly fucking ridiculous.
For the past eight days I have been smoking this synthetic weed that I honestly can't tell you what it is made of - someone likened it to flyspray on paper - and I have just stopped yesterday. Today is my second day without it. Fucking crazy - but I was virtually (really? virtually - like as in Tron?) no, was basically hooked on this shit and my world was caving in again.
*
Mmmm. It's a fucking joke that I am so reckless and foolhardy acting as though I can walk into an impossibly high threshold addiction situation and just flirt on the edges without being sucked into the volcano.
So, yeah, I had a joint of it. And I just squatted there, looking at my tree ferns, and I smoked a cigarette (yeah, they appeared just a few weeks ago too) and my mind skipped away into that deep stoned trance where the garden and the plants are almost more than three dimensional and somehow the garden design and layout becomes a whole body experience.
When I am stoned I work hard. I planted dozens of native grasses and re-built all the compost around the existing ferns and palms. I dug drainage trenches and made space for a sandstone bench. I re-potted all the pot plants in the courtyard with fresh compost, and trickled fertilizer onto all of my tress and plants too. All this over the last seven or eight days.
Waking up, getting dressed, going to buy more plant shit, and then curling a joint and smoking it whilst I garden with the headphones on playing classical music. Me, lost in concentration moving plants and thinking, acting out the best sites for them to grow. I moved my tahitian lime tree from the pot it was in since 1999, and planted it in the ground, and then went and bought two more so I would have a little orchard.
Everything was so twee and nice and stoned and calm out there by myself, doing the gardening thing.
But I don't live in a vacuum, and sure enough, it all came to a shuddering halt. I was basically addicted again.
Yeah, well, as we all know with the chilling clarity of sobriety, there is no 'win situation' from pushing our luck - or even tempting fate, or riding the plateau, or (and I don't even know what this means) chasing the dragon.
What happens is before you even have time to absorb the insidious mind cram of the high, you are transported instantly back to that time you were strung out - crawling around the house on a weekday looking for butt ends or a skerrick of a joint. Even just a bit of a butt, or the teensiest scrap of smokeable grit you could transform into a high and the escape from the doldrums of sobering up.
Sure, the headache of the hangover can be sweetened by lying back and just well lying there, but nothing beats a hangover like doing it again before the hangover has time to fully deaden into what you think is the grim tooth-grind of reality.
Yeah, since this blog is my church, and I certainly can't say my body had been my temple lately (unless you count the offerings of chocolate and ice cream and other assorted sweet crap) - I have a confession to make and it is embarrassing and frankly fucking ridiculous.
For the past eight days I have been smoking this synthetic weed that I honestly can't tell you what it is made of - someone likened it to flyspray on paper - and I have just stopped yesterday. Today is my second day without it. Fucking crazy - but I was virtually (really? virtually - like as in Tron?) no, was basically hooked on this shit and my world was caving in again.
*
Mmmm. It's a fucking joke that I am so reckless and foolhardy acting as though I can walk into an impossibly high threshold addiction situation and just flirt on the edges without being sucked into the volcano.
So, yeah, I had a joint of it. And I just squatted there, looking at my tree ferns, and I smoked a cigarette (yeah, they appeared just a few weeks ago too) and my mind skipped away into that deep stoned trance where the garden and the plants are almost more than three dimensional and somehow the garden design and layout becomes a whole body experience.
When I am stoned I work hard. I planted dozens of native grasses and re-built all the compost around the existing ferns and palms. I dug drainage trenches and made space for a sandstone bench. I re-potted all the pot plants in the courtyard with fresh compost, and trickled fertilizer onto all of my tress and plants too. All this over the last seven or eight days.
Waking up, getting dressed, going to buy more plant shit, and then curling a joint and smoking it whilst I garden with the headphones on playing classical music. Me, lost in concentration moving plants and thinking, acting out the best sites for them to grow. I moved my tahitian lime tree from the pot it was in since 1999, and planted it in the ground, and then went and bought two more so I would have a little orchard.
Everything was so twee and nice and stoned and calm out there by myself, doing the gardening thing.
But I don't live in a vacuum, and sure enough, it all came to a shuddering halt. I was basically addicted again.