Leveling Off

Some call it getting high. I call it leveling off. No doubt I'm fully capable of tying one on, smoking myself into a giggling, silly mess. But most of the time, I smoke as much as I need for a little "upliftment."

A bowl after work allows me to make the god-awful commute home without threatening anyone with violence. It enables me to act - for all practical purposes - sane. This is not to say I won't readily forget missions midstream, go off on tangents of thought, or trail in conversations. All of the stereotypical attributes of a pothead are true. (It's just that straights don't understand all the neato things popping off in our heads.)

These are annoyances at worst. I know plenty of people who act cookier straight than I do stoned out of my gourd. And it is a trade-off I'm willing to make.

Don't get me wrong. I do understand herb will not solve my problems. I seek nothing more than a quick yet lasting mood enhancer, p & s. That little tug that slows me down long enough to look for the good in a situation, rather than assume the worst.

Instead of bitching about traffic, I'm apt to notice an old favorite on the radio, or a spectacular sunset. Instead of loathing the boredom of a family gathering, I find that twinkle in my parents' eyes that signifies their love and pride for me. I crack jokes when I would otherwise make snide remarks. I laugh when I would otherwise stew silently in my high-reaching disappointment.