buttonloops

written 3/5/19

content note: discussion and use of recreational weed

I'm high right now. Enough so that I lose my train of thought between one tick and the next tock. Seconds or minutes later, I find myself pondering an entirely different subject, unsure how I got there or why gravity holds me so strongly against the bed.  

Time slows enough that I have to concentrate in order to remember lighting the candles, a bit ago. I love the beginning of being high, when it enfolds me like slow, honey-drizzled warmth. Less to my liking are the wide-separated minutes upon endless minutes that later follow.

I have some interesting realizations in this state, though. Last time I realized that reading, and fantasy, was the missing piece in my recent creative life. My past times of regular writing and creativity have coincided precisely with times of voracious reading. This year, I've been trying to write again, but without reading much. No wonder it's all been dry. Since that realization, I've read over three works of fiction, and it feels like a missing piece clicking into place.

Tonight's stoned ponderings are these: I wonder what it would be like to recall, when sober, the brain patterns of being high, and emulate them. I’ve wondered before if recreational drugs might be an avenue to learning different responses and modes of existence. Could I, when sober, consciously sit down and emulate the slowing, the gentling of my mind that I feel when the weed comes on? I bet I could slip sideways into that open-minded peaceful creativity, without the accompanying deep time dilation.

I could plan an evening to come home and sit with my writing. I could give myself a whole, beautiful evening of delicious creative time. (I'm thinking about Captain Awkward's recommendations of scheduled, planned artist's date, but I can't find the link.) It's a practice which sounds nourishing, but which I've never tried.

A date with my creativity, instead of stolen, ever-procrastinated moments. Yes. I'd like to do that.

Well, it's time to put myself to bed. Tomorrow, perhaps.