All that really happened was I bought In-N-Out: two cheeseburgers and a side of fries. And a banana split at Denny’s. You’d think that I got the munchies from being high, but I was hungry before I smoked. And what I ate sounded like something I’d eat on any regular night. The only difference I felt was that I was maybe a little wobbly on my feet. But I was also pretty tired. I dunno. I managed to rationalize away every possible hint of being high.
But maybe I really was high. It’s was my fourth time—I had to have started doing it right by then. I’m just one of the rare few who don’t get crazy trips like other people. My tolerance for weed probably makes up for my lack of tolerance for alcohol. So, I don’t see the problem with taking a few hits tonight. The leftover potato salad from the potluck can wait for me in the kitchen. I’m in the bedroom with three others from my PD dance family right now, and I’d like to join in on a good time. That Gatorade bong contraption you got is pretty weird though. A Gatorade bottle, a pen tube, and a bowl made of foil; it couldn’t get any more ghetto than this. But whatever, I’m down.
We pass it around. I nervously anticipate each time. I’m a little excited, but mostly anxious. Am I going to get a good hit this time? When exactly do I take my thumb off this little hole? When do I stop lighting the bowl? Fuck I’m such a noob. It’s slightly embarrassing. Oh, but thanks Gerald, you’re going to light the bowl and place your own thumb on the hole for me. You’ll take care of all the complicated stuff; just place my lips over the opening and suck. Sounds like something I can do. And soon enough you guys are now all saying, “Daaang tha’ was a good one!” I’m sucking and looking down and I can kinda see the ashy white smoke filling up the Gatorade bottle. Sometimes it gets so opaque and sometimes the smoke rushes so forcefully down my throat that it burns. Billows of smoke shoot out of my nose while puffs escape my mouth when I cough and cough some more. Shit, my throat. Fuck, that was what I was nervous about. The first time I smoked it burned my throat so bad that it was sore for the next few days, and it later developed into a cold.
The burning this time doesn’t last too long however. I dunno what I’ve been doing differently this time around but I guess I’m learning. Soon enough I’m taking hits again, and now you guys are all telling me that fuuuuck, I’m going to get hella high. Yeah, sure. I smile and nod. I’m not feeling anything yet. This is probably just going to end up like all the other times I’ve smoked.
And, then, well, it uh—this is different. It hit me. Whoa. This, this must be it. High. I’m high. Slow, why is everything slow now. Wait, wow. Turning my head—feels like, shit. Takes a lot of energy. Feels like a dumbbell. All over my body, holding me down. This must be it. I’m high. Words. Are you guys saying something? Yeah, I hear you. Am I high, you ask? That’s a question. I look at them. Then I look past them. I’m looking at the wall now. I look at them again. I’m high. Yes, I nod yes. Oh fuck. How’d this, well, okay. I know how. But how did this happen? My other four times getting high—they were nothing. This time now is something—wow.
Gerald, what? What about him. I don’t hear his voice. You guys say what? Oh, Gerald. He’s spacing out too. I turn—oh god, dumbbells. I’m moving them again. I turn my head, and I look at him, Gerald. He’s sitting on the other bed. He’s staring at the wall, the one to my right. He’s staring. Straight ahead, pretty much. Blank look. And now what? You guys, you’re leaving? Leaving me here, with Gerald, just us two. Ok. Not gonna nod—just saving my energy.
Gerald, it’s just us. Us two alone now. We lie down. Separate beds. The ceiling—it’s never been, I dunno, so interesting. Actually, no. It’s not interesting. But, fuck, can’t stop staring at it. I’m fixated. Corner of my eye, you pick up something. What is that? What are you doing? I turn my head—sooo slowly. I know what you’re doing. But, whatever. I ask you, what is that? What are you doing?
Checking Tumblr. Oh you’re checking Tumblr. Lemme tell you something, something ‘bout Tumblr. You ready? You ready to hear? I have lots—oh god—things to say about Tumblr, and blogging, just blogging really. Things, crazy things, to say about them, I have a lot. Ready? O.K.
I’ve been blogging ever since the eighth grade which was like nearly eight whole fucking years ago and I started like any other blogger but I’m telling you the things I blog about now are fucking ridiculous and fucking crazy and I know every one says that and that everyone likes to claim that their blogs are so fucking unique but trust me they are all really the same but unlike them I can guarantee you that my blog is indeed the most unique blog ever a personal blog in which you actually get some insight into my life and I know every says that they write their own unique insights on their life on their blogs but no they actually just blog a bunch of generic posts about really basic ideas on really general shit like the things they write are some really crappy sparknotes while what I write is the actual novel
which means that yes my blogs are really long and one of the common things my friends will tell me is why can’t I ever just get to the point in my blogs but trust me everything I include in a blog has a point whether it’s there to set the scene give some characterization set the tone contribute to the theme or whatever but most Internet readers are just looking for the plot because everything else is too complicated for them but really they should be able to understand because this is stuff they learn in school but the problem is that kids nowadays think that whatever they learn in school they don’t need to apply outside and so a lot of people pretty much everyone misses all the universal themes and the point of what it is that I try to do
so now you wanna read my blog and well that’s something that I’m cool with but when my friends ask to read my blog I need to screen them which is something I don’t do for strangers that stumble upon it but that’s okay because they’re strangers but when my friends read my blog I need to make sure that they understand it and don’t misinterpret anything so what I’m going to do now it gives you a little test a little diagram that illustrates one of the main themes of my blogs and you just tell me what you think it means so give me a sticky note and a pencil...ok here tell me what this diagram means to you
you don’t know oh but you take that back because you think it actually means that the truth makes up both emotion and logic and well I think that’s kinda close but not quite so I’ll let you ponder that for a while because I’m really hungry now and there’s some leftover potato salad that I haven’t tried yet so let’s go get some.Lead shoes. Must’ve been wearing them. Really though, I was wearing black socks. But lead shoes, felt like I was walking with them. Earth’s rotation speed—what is that? Thousand miles a second? An hour? An hour. Feels like I’m falling behind, not moving along, not anymore. Excuse my exaggeration there. Seriously though.
And seriously though, I dunno how I got here, here in the kitchen. But this potato salad; it’s bomb. But really though, I always like potato salad. Uh oh I’m rationalizing again. Maybe I’m not high.
Oh hi Caleb =] You’re in the kitchen, god, you’re such a cutie. No, I’m not going to tell you that. You don’t know I think that but you are such a cutie. =] Am I high, you ask? =] Man, you make me laugh. Nooo I’m not. My potato salad, is it fucking amazing, you ask? =] It’s average. Just average? =] Fuck, wait, no, =] Why am I smiling so much? =] Don’t laugh at me Caleb! =] I’m not high! =] I’m just smiling a lot— =] fuck why am I smiling? Oh my god =], I’m a smiler. Fuck no. =] Smiling is like, =] one of my least favorite things to do. Alright, here’s my blank face: =] Am I still smiling, Caleb? Fuck, yes I am. This is embarrassing. =]
Whatever, grin on my face, grin off my face, this potato salad—it’s pretty bomb =] It’s on a whole ‘nother level.
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