I remember the first time I got high. I was in the back of a remodeled electrician's van with several of my most hilarious friends. I remember feeling the wave come over me, my shit eating grin appearing and all of the worries in the world melting away.
It was a time where I felt like I was observing myself from so far away, but with the sound off.
Things began to change, and I'd have to smoke more and more to maintain that high, or else paranoia with creep in from the shadows that seemed to be engulfing the familiar.
Lately, I find myself smoking less and less of my favourite herb- and yet, just enough to bring the truth to light.
It's now responsible for the quirky comebacks, witty quips, and the ever popular foot in mouth maneuver. Something about weed doesn't allow me to relax anymore. It resurrects my sinister side to such an extreme, and I have learned to laugh at it.
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