Late Night Road Trip
When will people in my family learn that I really don't want to be talked to in the first couple of hours in the day? And they also know that presently the first couple of hours in my day happen between about 2 and 4 pm. I was having breakfast downstairs and reading the paper. My dad came in and kept going on about going to the dentists and about what he was doing that day and blah blah blah. I replied with cave-man like grunts, and hoped he'd go away. He didn't, so I did.
Last night was ridiculous. Was sitting at home watching Lost on TV when Cirrhotic Offy Manager rang me. He wanted to know if the bloke who lived on my road was still dealing. I said I'd give him a ring. He was, like the rest of the place, dry as...dry as...dry as... sorry I don't have the mental capacity today to think of a decent simile. Dry as the sahara?? Dry as a post-joint mouth? More apt come to think of it, and is the best you're getting this morning (afternoon). So I ring him back Cirrhotic Offy Manager and tell him so. Shit he says. Long story short: we drive to Southampton to pick up. One of our best mates lives down there, post degree, and is dealing at the moment. I think the main factor in our trip was the fact that I am getting so bored being in my hometown now. 90% boredom + 10% wanting a smoke = roadtrip to Southampton.
So we set off at 11pm, arrived in S'hampton at about 12ish. Get lost for a while in the S'hampton docks and then finally find where we're supposed to be going. We turn up at these posh block of flats, proper swank like, and say hi to our mate Joint HappenStance. Skin up, smoke on the balcony, laugh at the stupidity of the whole thing, walk to cash point, get 20s, walk back to flat, pay up, drive home. "Hypocrite!", I hear you cry: "after your high-horsedness over Repressed Homosexual Army Boy's drunk drive home, here you are getting high and getting lost in south-east England!". Well, I maintain that stoned driving is actually as safe, if not safer than sober driving. COM was doing slower than the speed limit, being very cautious at every junction and roundabout, checking everything twice, and generally being safer than pretty much any driver. Compare that with drunk driving boy racers who speed home, being about as cautious as... here we go again... erm as cautious as a lion in goat enclosure. How was that? Not too shabby, not too poetic. Guess it'll do.
Regardless, we get home. He gives me a lift back to mine, I have another joint and read The Stand for a couple of hours, hence the 5am bedtime.
Today, oh glorious day, is the day-after-the-smoke-before: when one can stare out of a window and not think of anything for minutes at a time. The thoughts in one's head can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Time ticks away, and thoughts stay in the subconscious where they belong. Which is a great contrast to the time when you are smoking: thoughts, stupid most of them, but the occasional gem, coming at you left, right and centre.
Life's about the highs and lows.