Not Just Your Garden-Variety Neurotic Smartass.

Because I Got High.

Occasionally I smoke marijuana. I’ve never really done it much until the past year, but I’ve found that its medicinal properties work wonders for both my shredded rotator cuff and my seizures.

Lately I’ve seen a surge in seizures, so I’ve been trying to smoke a bit more often, particularly because I don’t want to have another seizure and whack my head post-concussion.

Yesterday I got high. I didn’t intend to get super high, but I was indeed completely stoned. The problem with this is that I had a therapist appointment, and one would think that I would have taken that into consideration before getting wrecked on indica, which is more appropriately named “in da couch”.

I was slated to be on the couch, but the therapist’s couch is admittedly not ideal post-weed.

I arrived at my appointment, completely nervous and paranoid that my ex-military therapist was going to call me out for being a drug addict. I wandered around the waiting room before she came out of her previous appointment, checking out the instant coffee pot, which I could not figure out to operate because I was high and stupid.

My therapist led me into her office, which seemed extraordinarily warm and uncomfortable at the time, because I was high and stupid.

She then sat me down and asked, “How do you want to proceed with therapy?” This was an inordinately difficult question, because I was high and stupid, so I just mumbled out something about a safe space to vent and “working on my issues” or some such bullshit.

Halfway into the extremely uncomfortable session that had already featured many awkward, prolonged moments of silence; she remarked, “I’m going to make some observations. You seem particularly tense today, and you seem as if you’re spacing out a lot, and I’m wondering if you’re having petit mal seizures.”

I was not having seizures – I was just high and stupid. I was also paranoid, so I assumed she smelled the weed on me and was just fucking with me for kicks. This made me even more tense.

By the time the appointment was over, my shoulders were up around my ears and I couldn’t look the woman in the eyes. I felt like a little kid harboring a bad deed.

It was the most uncomfortable appointment I have ever had, and I’m including my three-day labor with Jasmine in that tally.

I went home and immediately smoked more pot, because ANXIETY, and I felt better.

So, while I do wholeheartedly recommend weed if one is not being drug tested and has chronic pain or seizures (or anxiety), I don’t recommend getting high and stupid before going to the therapist.

Lesson learned. Have a super day.


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