Today I was thinking about how I have always catered to escapism, in some form or another, throughout my (relatively) short life so far.
When I was child, I was a HUGE bibliophile. I mean, I spent 90% of my free time reading. After school, I would read outside, on my swing set, my friends would stop by to see if I could play, and I would beg them to come back in fifteen minutes.
I loved reading, I loved escaping into other worlds. In all sorts of wrong, I wonder what would have happened if I had been introduced to marijuana earlier in life. Like, if I had some irresponsible uncle who would bring a blunt at babysitting time. Would I have traded books for weed back then?
Sometimes, it seems like I’ve done it as an adult. I love marijuana, I love how it makes me feel- alive! Remember that non-smoking stint I tried a few months ago? After the initial oh-my-fucking-god-everything-annoys-the-hell-out-of-me period, I just felt….flatlined. Completely bored with everything. Nothing motivated me, I felt no passion about anything. That was what put me back on the weed. It seems to be my gateway for my creative self. Gateway to my true self.
I just can’t get through life not feeling excited about anything, unmotivated, bored. Life is too tedious to go through it like that. If you need a little help getting to that special place, in a way that doesn’t harm anyone else or yourself, then fucking do it.
So is this a confession or a Public Service Announcement? I don’t fucking know. I just know that the world would be a better fucking place, if maybe a hungrier place, if everyone smoked.
Read the rest of the debauchery HERE