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Reflection from January 15th, 2008 @ Age 26


One of the things I hate most about refraining from weed is that I feel like I have less of the ability to write poetically.  One of the things I like most about refraining from weed is that a vice such as brownies and milk — although indulged — is without doubt far less destructive, i.e. I eat one to two brownies and drink three to four cups of milk a day instead of an entire plate of brownies and a gallon of milk a day.  I hated, when I was smoking, that I could not control how much I ate—and that I constantly ate until the point in which my stomach ached, and then smoked more weed to make my stomach feel less full—which merely led to more eating until I finally just passed out.  I hated that I could not stop smoking—even to save my throat that got so fucking tar-y tasting it was disgusting.  I hated the amount of cigarettes I smoked when I got high, which was absolutely incalculable.  I hated feeling so incredibly great about life—only to wake up in a nightmare.  There are aspects of my life that will forever function without my control, but by steering clear of weed I eliminate so many destructive factors in one fell swoop.  It’s intriguing really.

With the sole exception that I hate not adequately being able to express myself — more than most if not all of the other things that I hate — and I hate that when I smoke weed, I am far more able to express myself with elegant particularity.

What else, what else?  I have so damn much on my mind throughout the day…the long lonnngggg days, and yet when I so much as think about sitting down to write about it, my thoughts escape me and I’m left with single words and bits of phrases and nothing more.  Although I must say, the last few sentences I’ve written have felt comparatively poetic when it comes to the rest of the overreaching scraps I’ve presently compounded.