Smoking Marijuana To Procrastinate – Mad Chaos: January 26, 2001

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Thursday was one of those days, where the writer was willing but where negligence dealt me another handed procrastination.  He was on a hallucinogenic strike.  Like days before, the pressure was another day’s excuse to smoke.  I just couldn’t force myself to work, so it turned out to be another barren day for literature, wasted away but in the usual seesaw turn of events that come from the writer resting his beleaguered worth.  I tried mustering up enough motivation but each daunting look at my memoirs was a loathed experience.  

That’s when my attentions turned and gave an enduring workout to my website, where most of my afternoon was spent adding a movie animation and continuing the registration process on my domain name.  

I also searched for some licensed music to play along with the movie introduction.  But from a choice of thousands, none fit seamlessly with the aesthetic feel of my website.

Smoking Marijuana To Escape Stress

Anyway, in those few sentences was my whole day and night, and in truth, was seen more as a much-needed holiday than for its repercussions to the struggling writer.  Having a joint and getting stoned was just my way of denying what needed to be done.  It was an excuse to avoid my problems, to pretend that they didn’t exist.  However, it worked.  Once stoned, the stress and anxious worries disappeared, and in their place came the laughs and usual fanciful thoughts.  

I smoked around the late evening on yesterday, stepping outside with a slight headache and a wrinkled up joint in my hand.  Half the time I wondered whether the shriveled thing sitting between my middle and index fingers was letting me draw back properly.  

“Is there anything coming out of this,” I inspected my shoddy attempt at a rolled up joint.  The paper was soggy, there was no roach and it seemed like most of the smoke was escaping from the ash rather than from my mouth.  Nevertheless, it did get me stoned.  All it took was some hard hits and I was tiptoeing back to the screen door with big saddlebag lunges.

Ah yes, it was a nice break from all the stress, to have the liberty of walking back into my bedroom and eyeing myself in the mirror or to turn on the television without fearing the hourly staling of my memoirs.  It seemed typical, however, how the writer fought against for so long only to concede at the death of these tumultuous times.  

He has a habit of doing that, a history of fighting through the most overwhelming adversity, to then, when the worst is over and the end is near, grow anxious and dig his grave.  

The Fear Of Doing Nothing

I think the fear comes from losing my drive and being left with nothing to do.  Like my dad, I always have to be busy doing something without there ever being a threat to finish.  That’s why my dad has bought over a dozen barbecues and why the writer has been strong for five years but barely current with his work.  Our drive is an ongoing thing.  Like stockbrokers, we fret whenever it falls.  

Nevertheless, the true millennium won’t be just another unreachable has-been.  It was always going to work.  My only worry is with keeping up the momentum on my memoirs whilst avoiding this genetic need to procrastinate.  

These last few absent nights weren’t any help in the bid to catch up before online life begins.  Nonetheless, it was a holiday, and just the sort of thing that the writer needs.

Do Animals Commit Suicide?

You come up with some weird thoughts and theories when stoned.  If it wasn’t for this outlet, they may never have been unveiled.  

“I wonder if pets ever get suicidal,” was my first thought.  

Do animals ever get the urge to jump off a cliff or is it purely a human thing?  

Do animals ever have intent or are their falls and casualties merely stupidity on behalf of the animal?  

Dogs and cats seem to have emotions, but if one dog wasn’t getting laid for life or if he only had three legs after an accident, then would he get depressed and consider it?

Well, when stoned, this was as much a phenomena to me as wondering whether aliens existed.  

Then came another…

Is Humanity A Chain Of Inbreeding

“Are we all just siblings from a long chain of inbreeding?”  

You only need to look as far as the royal family to see what it does.  If you believe that we all came from Adam and Eve then aren’t we just a product of evolutionary inbreeding?  Think about it.  

Adam and Eve had to have sex.  Then their kids had to have sex with each other to have more kids.  Like the movie “Multiplicity,” in theory, the more they had sex within the family, the more brain-dead the kids would have become.  Hence, prehistoric man.  

Ape-men were nothing more than small tribes of hunters and gatherers with barely enough brainpower for anything else.  Inventing the wheel was their crowning achievement and the turning point for where millions of years of evolution would finally pay off.  They were, in essence, small tribes of Adams and Eves.  It wasn’t until their assimilation into colonies and larger groups (where greater numbers was enough of an offset) that intelligence was born.  

Now, of course, the world’s population is so diverse that inbreeding (unless you were a royal or a farmyard hick) would be impossible.  We may have all come from an Adam and Eve but somewhere along the line there were enough variations of their genes for evolution to start afresh.  

Consider this though.  Ask yourself what would happen to human civilization if the whole world were to adopt the doctrines of inbreeding?

What would happen if for three generations deep, the only people you were allowed to procreate with were your brothers or sisters.  I tend to think the world would go dumb and that our world, as we know it, would be populated once more by Neanderthals.  

Imagine then the unlikely scenario of the last woman and man left standing having to repopulate human existence.  Humanity would go trumps.  Thank god for instinct then.  Without it Adam and Eve would never have led by example for the rest of the world through its evolution to get curious about sex.

Anyway, those were my two thoughts before crashing out last night, my twist on the theory of evolution and my wondering whether animals ever consider committing suicide.  

Friday was a bit of the same, just without all these sudden vagaries of my mind.  

I woke up after a good sleep on the floor.  Then I had a joint in my bedroom while my parents floated around outside.  

A Day Spent Watching Televised Cricket

Friday was another succumbed day to headaches.  So naturally, it had me turning away from the pressure of my memoirs and onto other avenues of release.  

I should have gone out with the boys for the night, but like the rest of this month, my weekend was as quiet as a mouse.  

Boredom soon struck when imprisoned from the outside world, having nothing else to do but eat and watch a whole day of cricket on television.  I stuck out the rest of the afternoon, but in a month where headaches and bad sleeping patterns have sidelined me, it was an early night.