Weed becomes successively less fun when you smoke it all the time. Your body and mind develop a tolerance, and you start to crave it. You’re chasing that feeling you got when you first smoked it, but you never quite get there.
Smoke a load, accept and endure the comedown period, arrive at equilibrium. Repeat.
I remember the first time I smoked cannabis. I started laughing, and then my friend Kevin started laughing at my laughter, and then I at his. This process looped for about 5 minutes without pause. By the end of it, I was on the floor, holding my ribs, my face wet from tears, and between the stuttering contractions of my diaphragm, managed to plead, “stop, please, you’re causing me great pain,” extending the ‘n’ on ‘pain’ for about 5 seconds to emphasize the seriousness of my inner torture, which was hidden by my outward appearance of total, hysterical mania. This only caused Kevin to laugh harder, and I kept laughing at him laughing at me, until finally, the neighbor downstairs started hitting the floor with a broom handle, yelling “please quiet down up there!” We managed to get a hold of ourselves after a while and wipe our faces clean. I went to sleep knowing I just had one of the best nights of my life. I woke up the next day with very sore abs, and a new take on life.
Fast forward 6 years, to when I was living on a farm on Saturna Island, in possession of more weed than I could possibly smoke (spoiler: I tried). I smoked day and night, and while I was happily stupefied in eternal bliss, I never quite got back to that peak I experienced those 6 years ago. I started worrying that I was becoming immune to the recreational effects, and was using the substance more like a necessity, similar to food, water, or air. So I decided to take a couple weeks off in total abstinence and then try it again. Those two weeks were very difficult: I got depressed sometimes and cannabis wasn’t there to comfort me; I went to parties and had to refuse the typical stoner generosity.
Everyone offered me heaps of their weed, and I had to tell them that I was on a break and that I still loved the plant: this was “definitely temporary” and I would resume smoking two Saturdays from now.
An artist’s interpretation of a good and evil Ouroboros.
Well, that second Saturday finally came. I was sitting in the orchard against an apple tree, alone, and lit up a finely rolled joint of Girl Scout Cookies, smoking it down to a roach. Within seconds, the corners of my mouth were pulled, as if by angels, halfway up my cheeks, and I started bursting at the seams, giggling hysterically. Everything was hilarious. The cockeyed chickens with their diplomatic “pecking order,” the geese with their awkward waddle and honk, my cat, fuzzy and totally in love with me; even the tomatoes in the garden seemed to be making funny faces at eachother. It felt wonderful. I wandered around the farm for the rest of the day, fixing things and writing some poems, then went back to my trailer and slept for a good twelve hours. The next morning I felt brand new.
I resolved right then and there to never abuse cannabis again. It is a magical plant, unique on earth, and it demands respect. After years of struggling to implement it into my daily life, I realized that, for recreational purposes, it is best used occasionally, and in very high doses. I still supplement my day-to-day life with medicinal edibles in low doses, which can cure anything from minor back pain to rheumatoid arthritis, but to get that huge, gut-busting high, there is absolutely no other way than to sanctify it and save it for a real celebration.
Thank you for reading. The next time you come into Wealth Shop, show one of our budtenders this sentence on your smartphone to get 10% off your next purchase. If you have any questions or comments, please drop a line below and I will reply promptly.