I know pot doesn't give you a hangover, but for me it does. Maybe you wake up woozy or a little high from the night before. But no matter how much I smoke, I always feel like death in the morning. Even drinking an assload doesn't make me feel as awful a puffing a just a teensy weensy little bit.
It's not the weed's fault, but mine. When I'm stoned, I have absolutely no self-control, so I'll eat everything unhealthy I can find, and maybe make a trip or two to the store for more.
From the sweets, I suffer from diabetic shock, early onset tooth decay, advanced cancer obesity and high-fructose death syrup withdrawal. But the worst of it all is the fat-boy guilt.
You may say, "Well, just stop eating when you're ripped." I would if I could. I've tried chewing Nicorette so I can't chew anything else. Eating sunflower seeds so my mouth has something to do. Dining on filling foods like couscous and oatmeal. None of it works. Just like farting, scratching my butt or watching reality TV, I'd love nothing more than to figure out a way to stop forever.
I'm not one of those people that can do stuff when baked. I can't play video games, clean, read or write (and depending on who you talk to, I can't write worth a damn while sober, either).
I'm too high to do anything — except eat. I'm the Shakespeare of snacking, the Beyonce of bingeing and the Michael Phelps of force feeding.
The only other thing I can do is watch movies. So I usually spend the whole two hours watching a film and eating and eating and eating. Mostly just eating. A two-hour movie might take me two and a half hours to watch because I have to rewind it because my chomping drowned out some dialogue. I can't watch foreign movies while lit because I'm too focused on stuffing my face to read the subtitles.
I prefer to toke in private because of my shameful eating of my feelings. I won't smoke and venture out into the public because I don't want to risk running to the Country Kitchen Buffet and putting them out of business.
The good news is that I've halted my smoking while I'm job hunting so I'm not gorging myself. On Easter, I opened a pack of Marshmallow Peeps. They're still on the kitchen counter, and I still haven't snorted them down. They're just sitting there, aging to that perfect amount of staleness and staring at me with their brown rabbit eyes. They're just waiting for me, but they're not going to get me. Right now, I can control myself. However, my roommate ...