Don’t misunderstand, I still douse my senses with alcohol from time to time.
It’s only the green and black that have been phased out of my daily routine.
I have a mental drug problem. I can’t stop over-thinking or even over-smoking, in fact, and I let it get to my head in a way nothing ever has.
Imagine living a life based solely on the acquisition and consumption of a drug you claim to have complete control over.
Sounds like a ******’s ******* to me.
Every action is governed by the need for a spliff and nothing gets done after a spliff.
As much as I love it. I hate it.
The grass isn’t entirely to blame. I’ve started hating cigarettes too.
Can’t stand those little *****. Now, I know there was a time when my love for them was eternal.
Poems, confessions and pneumonic reasoning were customary to express the profound admiration, but it has finally waned on me.
And I’m not trying to sell you on this, but it actually feels good to wake up not feeling like granny ****.
Back to the mental fray.
It cost me my memories, my judgment, my focus and confidence. Bare in mind, this only pertains to me.
It probably affects you differently.
If so, then this must be entertaining for you to read.

Since I parted ways with THC, I’ve gotten more work done in a month than I have all year. I’m clearer. I’m certain. I’m a *****.
There is no fog. But my memories are still lost. That damage seems to be permanent.
But my sense of wonder hasn’t waned at all. The fascinations have actually intensified since.
I think that’s because I have forgotten what it means to be sober.
If there’s anything that can change your world. It’s grass.
Not by much. But you’ll know the difference when you’ve lived with it for as long as I have.
Once again, not threatening your love for it (rests gun at your temple) only speaking my (sober) mind.

Now, I’m going to go get hammered, and be a bigger ****** than I ever was, before the dry week starts.