The issue has come up – on more than one occasion, mind you – that a person in my situation should really have resorted to more “alternative” medications by now. If you’ve already figured out that I’m talking about marijuana, please give yourself a gold star.
I’ve never tried pot. Never. I’ve never even so much as puffed on a joint, not even once. I don’t have to deny inhaling, because as much as I’ve been offered I’ve never been even tempted to do put a twisty cigarette in my mouth (I can hear my mother shouting “Good for you!”). This isn’t something I’m terribly proud of, either. It’s just a fact – I’ve just never been interested in smoking pot. I’ve certainly had my share of opportunities between friends, rock concerts, college, and living downtown.
But now I have a reason to smoke up, a perfectly reasonable medical reason. No one would ever look down on me for getting high at this point. My doctor even looked at me funnny when I told her I hadn’t considered it as a theraputic remedy for my constant and relentless nausea. Works wonders, she said.
So what’s stopping me? There’s no legal reason I couldn’t (it’s practically legal to smoke in this country already, if not, you know, legally legal), no real moral reason (I look at marijuana the same as alchohol, quite alright in the right amounts), and there’s certainly a nice big fat reason I should be toking. Yet for some reason I’m apprehensive to touch the stuff. Perhaps I’m scared to even try it. Or maybe I want to look my kids in the eyes and tell them I’ve honestly never smoked pot and mean it when they’re curious, which raises the bigger issue of what that’s actually going to mean to them when the time does come to talk about drug use.
So am I worried about my present? Or my future?
Mood: Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em