I'm a mess this morning. So is the house. Not a good combo as the "Wrecking Crew" is coming in a bit. I have a lot of "putting away" to do before they get here.
What happened? Oh. . . thank you for asking. Those gummies. Seriously. The legal ones. Last night I decided to eat just half of one. Same thing. . . trippin' balls in the middle of the night. Sluggish and numb this morning. I was told yesterday that this synthetic THC they are using is stronger than regular THC. I didn't realize that it was synthetic. No more of that, then. It didn't give me good dreams.
So, another lesson learned. But it makes me wonder, truly, what the fuck is going on with people. They like this? They like the stumbling and the mumbling?
Sure they do. I guess that is why I tried it again last night.
See that table? That's my idea of getting high. Cheese and crackers and olives, or maybe a little brie with pears, and a good bottle of wine. That photo was one that sat in the Holga for many years. I like all the flaws, but the photo makes me a little sad. Ili always tied a napkin around the neck of the wine bottle. She was like that. The little centerpiece had those weird space plants from another planet that she enjoyed.
But she enjoyed the ganja, too. I'm just not made for drugs. Were I, I could quit drinking like my A.A. sponsor. I, however, am left dry, not high, when I abstain, and must face the absurdity of natural and social life head on. A drink just rounds out the sharp corners a bit.
I lay in bed laughing to myself this morning, though, thinking about how wildly out of place I have always been. I mean, I have never needed help being weird. I was remembering all those workshops we were required to do at the factory for so many years. They always started with "ice breakers" as if nobody in the room had ever seen the others before.
"I would like you to take a penny from your pocket. If you don't have one, I've brought extras. You need one over there? O.K. Now I would like everybody to hold that penny in their hand and make a wish. You only get one wish. Everybody? O.K. Now I'd like for each of us to share what that wish was."
Oh, god, I swear this is true. You cannot imagine my agony. But it was doomed to get worse. As we went around the room, people would breathlessly wish for world peace or an end to illness or some other ghastly thing--and I'd be sweating it. And when it came my turn, I said, "Well. . . I know I should be selfless here and wish for an end to AIDs or for gender equity worldwide or something big, but I just keep thinking how great it would be if I could dunk a basketball. I've always wanted to but I don't even come close."
The room would look at me wide eyed for a second, then there would be a few chuckles here and there and the moderator would looked confused about what to say. I hated those workshops. Nothing good ever came out of them.
I got quite a reputation for absurdities, though. I was on a committee to help design an new building that was going to be constructed off site. It was going to be something that people could see from the interstate highway, so they wanted it to be high profile. The architects put up big white tablets to write out our ideas and would tear them off and attach them to the wall so we could all see where we were going. Most of the ideas were pedestrian at best, and the architects didn't need our input. It was, as always, just for show. What shape should the building take? Sidewalks from the parking lot? Foliage? It was mind numbing.
"If you really want the building noticed," I said, "you should shape it like Moby Dick!"
People looked at one another as if to ask, "What did he say?"
"What do you mean."
"Moby Dick. You know. The Great White Whale! There is no way people wouldn't notice that!"
And I swear to god, the transcriber wrote down in big letters, "Moby Dick, the Great White Whale."
I just about shit myself. But the head architect liked me. We'd been on many committees together. He told me in private, "I'm always glad when you are in the room. I never know what you are going to say."
Yea. . . I miss all that in a strange and terrible way.
Maybe I need to start tying a napkin around the bottle neck. I'd kind of forgotten that until I developed this film. Memories fade, I guess.
But photographs. . . that's another thing.
Post a Comment