Lonely Stoner Syndrome

Being alone, stoner-wise, I am forced to smoke alone in my bathroom. I’m living with my Aunt, Uncle, and my mother. I love them all dearly. They’ve all been a support when I needed them. So I’m trying to be considerate of them and my nephlews and not leave my stuff reeking of pot.

So I stone in a bathroom with the fan turned up all the way. Not ideal situation, but I love them so I’ll make due.

I’m badly suffering from lonely stone syndrome. Though I smoked alone occasionally, getting stoned was still always a communal thing. It was a gathering, a tribal meeting. One that you could carry with you and do in cars. The best times were always in nature. I’d have to say getting stoned in a tree full of people was one of the best group activities. Beats scrabble any day. Oooo. But scrabble in a tree.

So anyway, lonely stoner syndrome. When one smokes alone you get so caught up in a fast rhythm, there being no one else to pass to. It's easy to get caught up and get far more stoned sooner than you were planning, getting caught up in all these sensations that my senses were missing. So the bowl empties far faster than I was expecting.

Something is missing… the atmosphere, the talking and laughing. I love to talk to friends on the phone, but it isn’t the same. I can webcam but like the lazy procrastinator that I am, I keep forgetting to get the password from my uncle (proof that pot doesn’t make you lazy, I‘ve been managing that for years before pot). And even so, webcams only offer a tiny windows into people’s lives; it is hell to be kept on the other side of a window from those you love for months. But so is life.

And so you can tell, I’m stoned at the moment. Best to document on site.

I managed to keep this small stash from before I came, having managed to smuggle a little home with me for a week. Or so I thought. It’s been stored in its smelly-proof bad in the secret pocket of my backpack while I’ve been sitting in the hospital. I can finally enjoy.

My mother still being the overprotective hawk she is, watches me with a keen eye. It is not as bad as she was when I was in the hospital, but still. In the evening she spends her nights upstairs while I stone in the bathroom 2 floors down.
I’m so very tactile at the moment. Knowing from experience that I’m tactile when I’m fresh (there was a reason that I started in trees). Every key is a tiny little imput of data to my brain. And it loves every second of it. At some point, I will return to my half a bowl.

You have no idea how hard it was, when I fell into that rhythm. The bowl is tiny, compared to what I used to smoke. It’s a small straight tube of glass, having smuggled this as well. Many of you may have seen these as they were on sale at Christmas at Mello Yello. The bowl should be small enough that it won’t kill me. But to force myself to stop at half a bowl? Seems inhumane. It should be passed around, shared. With loved ones all around.

This turtle has finally been returned to the water. But the waters he knew are far way in the mountains.

Reminder, I will have a separate post about this, but everyone should help think of names for the piece. I’ll be detailed and everyone should get stoned and think on that.

Credits
Green: The Christmas Bud (I’ll find out the real name later, but it was a gift
from Christmas)
Instrument: - Yet Unnamed -
Playlist: Keane, My Chemical Romance, Nirvana, my sister, Matchbook Romance, Green Day, Paramore
Quests: Starting to Blog, getting the windows on my desktop to balance out just perfectly