The Dead Horse

I don't know why I keep abusing this deceased animal. But the beating continues.

I don't even like pot. In fact when I first find out someone smokes pot, it puts a bit of a taint on them in my mind, and if they are a chronic user (I wish I could think of another term), I all but dismiss them.

I smoked marijuana basically two times: Halloween and Christmas 2003. I’ve been handed a pipe or a bong on a couple other occasions, but I didn’t know what I was doing. Halloween and Christmas of last year were the only times I’d say I got high. The majority of that time was horrible. I was smoking with Mary and her friends, and a narcotic known for its tendency to create paranoia is not the best idea in the company of a girlfriend you think is lying and cheating.

There were some shining moments. Some fun experiences in that haze. And that’s why I’d like to try it again. Without the doubt and anger and bitterness that preceded my only other experimentation.

I have no intention of becoming a pot head. I’m sure that once I do it again, I’ll get it out of my system and return to my mood alterer of choice (alcohol). But I can only get drunk with people I trust, and the same goes with getting high. The only problem is the one person I trust enough to smoke with has been… well, a dick about the whole thing.

There was a lengthy postponement phase, then an excuse phase, and now I think we’re on a projection phase. "We will, we will" slowly became "Last time made me sick" and "I don’t know how to get it" which has slowly given away to "No matter how good it is, it won’t live up to Mary."

Which is all fair and good, but I wish I could get the real answer. I can’t seem to drop it. I just keep beating the dead horse.

The worst part is, this is all over pot. I don’t even like pot.

But I hate feeling lied to, kept out, and manipulated.

There you have lived up to Mary.

Good job.