September 15, 2011
On days like this I wished I smoked weed. I always admired my professional friends who were able to be really productive throughout the day and then come home and smoke an elegantly rolled blunt. It annoys me when I think about all the lies that were fed to me regarding marijuana when I was growing up. I remember being in the 6th grade and thinking that if I take a hit of the joint one day then I would be smoking crack the following week. Now I know so many intellectuals, doctors, and even teachers that smoke weed its absurd.
What’s even more absurd is all of those over exaggerations actually worked on me. I was extremely afraid to smoke weed during the height of the peer pressure days (also known as high school and college). I never wanted to be one of those people who had to smoke at least five times a day and had ashy gray lips and no ambitions. Which is very ironic indeed considering the last three presidents of the United States smoked weed at some point in their lives, and two of the last three even admitted to doing cocaine.
Because of these truths lately I’ve been wondering if my anti-marijuana attitude is what has been keeping me from writing my novel. Perhaps if I puffed on the ganja I would sleep a lot more and stress a lot less. In these hard times everyone is looking for a miracle drug and I am no exception.
Mama never told me there’d be days like this; my god. I really need prayer.