Geed = Good Weed
Let’s say you are a SB, alone on a Friday night. And let’s say you decide to roll a blunt and relax. But I repeat myself…
Weed is not what is used to be. It’s more prevalent, stronger, and more insidious than during the early age of the now-middle-aged. And how we react to it is telling, like a Rorschach test. Me- I react in the most un-mellow way. Like curled up in the fetal position under a desk un-mellow. The best payoff of smoking weed, the ability to take a step back, see things for what they are, distort things for what they aren’t allow yourself a blurry-eyed helicopter-view of life instead of the focused street-level view of the competitor in this race we all run, can also be the worst result of smoking weed if you, like me, have a streak of anxiety running through you like lightning through your synapses. That’s a long m-f-ing sentence!
When I used to take that weed-induced step back in my early teens, the 60s still in sharp relief in the near rearview (we didn’t even know they were over!), my friends and I would sit in someone’s attic, black light on and posters glowing, the Dead on the turntable, and just waste time wasted, laughing over nothing, obsessing over everything, lost in the comfortable cocoon of suburban adolescent life.
Now- the cocoon is not so comfortable, especially as an SB. There’s kids to raise, mortgages to pay, jobs which are ever less secure, ex-wives to deal with and pay, the ever-increasing obligations of midlife sticking to us like dust to Pig Pen in Charlie Brown. And what getting high does for yours truly, on the exceedingly rare times I have allowed by judgment to be swayed by some misguided nostalgic impulse, is to make me look down. Continue reading