Dating chronic pot smoker
Dating chronic pot smoker - online dating site in brazil
Unfortunately, my library bosses loved me so much that, after five months, I arrived at work to news that they wanted to make my employment permanent immediately: “Just walk around the corner to the clinic and get the stupid drug test out of the way, and you’ll be ours forever! Despite first ducking into Walgreens and purchasing a tiny bottle of bleach to hide between my butt cheeks (I’d been told bleach confuses piss tests), I lost that job. Humiliated, sad and broke, I nonetheless refused to quit smoking, vowing to never again apply for a job that required drug testing.
I never tried to quit, but whenever I ran out, it would only be a matter of hours before I’d end up in a loud argument with my girlfriend-now-wife or with an editor or with whoever else had previously pissed me off but had eluded my wrath when I’d been too stoned to care. The birth of our daughter in 2009 did nothing to curb my use -- not even when the baby would find and bring to me my dirty one-hitter, announcing, “This is yours!After Katrina, some entrepreneurial spirit realized this -- someone from Houston, we suspected -- and suddenly luscious, fragrant weed became available everywhere for an eighth.For the next seven years, I spent roughly 0 a month -- not a ridiculous amount for what I considered to be successful mental health medicine.I always made a point to speak honestly about my habit to medical doctors.At the end of any physical, after being told my lungs sounded pink, I derived perverse delight from admitting I smoked weed 20 times a day.Also, once I officially gave in to a pot lifestyle, my brain slowed down by the perfect amount to let me, for the first time ever, sit and enjoy a book.
I was even able to organize my thoughts enough to write a few books of my own.
I feared pills would kill my libido and my desire to record music and write, whereas weed made me more horny and creative. Most important, though, weed made me calm and nice.
I grew up in a tumultuous, mildly violent Irish household, which burdened me with lifelong anger issues.
I have stood by both of those convictions ever since.
In 2005, my weed need was exacerbated by Hurricane Katrina.
Unlike mom, though, I refused to ignore the common denominator: me.