BoNg DePrivAtion

I've got that dull feeling. I fell restless. I sit down on the couch and spy half a joint in the ashtray left behind by a neighbor. I want so badly to be able to light it up and smoke it-taste it-blow smoke and exhale then welcome that plucky, colorful, high-the state of mind that always is on the brink of hilarity. I loved getting stoned. It was great then those damned panic attacks hit me and now pot is just a memory.

My brain betrayed me and has refused to welcome any foreign substances with the exception of sertraline. Lord knows I've tried to smoke every now and then, but I always end up counting time the time to when I'll be sober again. I crave just one time when I can be high and under blue skies-not feel trapped-not feel uneasy but feel like a frolicking wood nymph without a worry in sight. I want to be tickled with joy, tingle with fairy dust and feel the love of that moment-be the music and allow my eyes to dance and mouth to smile broadly.

The joint is taunting me by reminding me of the type of memories that I'll never have again. I suppose I had my time and now, I must move on, but what a drag. I hate not having a choice. If I could just take one hit...Oh, it would be a triumph. It would mean that I'm getting better and my mind is chilling out and allowing me to let go. Release, not feel so uptight and allow myself to become a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

When I smoked pot, I couldn't roll a joint to save my life. Ironically, I learned how to roll after I stopped. Now I roll joints. If I can't inhale, I at least want to smell it, chop it up in the grinder, feel it on my fingers. I know what this is! I suffer from bong deprivation. I've got all the symptoms. Like a fiend, I catch myself sniffing in the air when someone blazes up. I encourage people to smoke indoors so that my house will have that amazing scent. If I wasn't such a numb buts about growing plants, I would grow a dozen pot plants just to have it, hoard it and make it all mine (enter evil laughter here).

I love that seen in Fast Times At Ridgemont High when Spiccoli bonks his head with his brand new, fresh out of the box, Vans and says, "That was my skull. I'm so wasted." And he was enjoying it. I'd like to be Spiccoli for a day back then or, hell, even now. I want to surrender my brain with "a cool buzz and some tasty waves". I don't think I'm asking for a lot in this situation, anyway. It's no secret, that I do want a lot in life. I'm not the type to be content. I would accept world domination, but right now, in this moment, I just want to be stoned. I want to be a bone head for a day, and make a gravity bong with a two liter bottle in the bath tub. I want to smoke out of an apple. I want to wax philosophical, and in mid-sentence, forget what I'm saying because I've been distracted by something that I think is funny. I want to watch Animal Planet or some show about the earth, drink grape juice and ravage of bag of Doritos followed by a bowl of cereal then some Pez. That would be like Queen for a day. Well, a girl can dream. I'm more likely to see the fruition of more substantial dreams come true, and I'm okay with that. No complaints here.