Unlike President Clinton, I Inhaled My Weed

And I Left the Happiness Haze Without Getting a Ride on Epstein Air

Photo by Cyrus Crossan on Unsplash

Quitting marijuana, I knew it had the potential to kill me. I had a dream about smoking weed way before I used it. I felt dizzy and wonderful in the dream and enjoyed the sensation.

In real life, I bought some weed in the 70s from a friend of a teacher I worked with. It was a lid, three fingers of weed in a sandwich bag. It had a few seeds. Someone told me you should save the seeds if the ounce was good.

I couldn’t roll a joint. I just took the tobacco out of a filter cigarette and stuffed in some marijuana with a pencil eraser end down the paper.

Smoking that night with my special someone, I wondered when I would feel anything. I kept trying to compare the cannabis feeling with the alcohol feeling. I felt gradually lifted by the weed experience, and I floated amorously into the arms of my beloved, sharing that splif.

From that time until I was no longer under the influence of THC, I considered myself handsome, rich, and physically perfect. I asked my loved later one if our behaviors were unique and received the reply that they were not out of the ordinary.

I kept that lid of weed for several months, only smoking occasionally. I made cannabis tea once, but it looked unappetizingly yellow, like the contents of a bathroom bowl.

I was not encouraged to continue to smoke weed, so after using a few more times stuffing the loose shreds down a cigarette, I quit. I went outside in my yard, picked up a board that had been there for weeks, dug a hole for that lid, and laid that lid to rest.

I never smoked any more weed. I had already decided to abstain from booze, so I just applied the techniques that worked for that to the need not to smoke weed anymore.

I am aware that, at that time, there was a significant cannabis culture in the country. But another different drug experience soon preempted it, meth.

Confident that there is still a cannabis-smoking cabal, I do not need to rejoin the experience of weed use.

Fortunately, I have an intensely realistic picture of myself now, sans the view of myself through pot smoke. There is no regret at all in that.

I did learn one riddle while I was high on weed: “Q: What do you get when you cross a donkey with a peanut butter sandwich? A: A donkey that sticks to the roof of your mouth.”

Laugh, I thought I’d die. But here I am, living fifty more years after quitting.