Beware of Montana Girl Scout Cookies

*Warning* This post references legal activities that some do not agree with and an enthusiastic use of profanity that some may find offensive. If you are quick to judge others who do not walk the path you do, maybe you should skip this one.

With all the habits and addictions I am inclined to succumb to, repetitive drug use has never been something that appealed to me. There were many factors that helped me manage this. 

1. My disinterest in public exposure while surfing between dimensions. It makes me feel vulnerable and paranoid.

2. I can see who people really are while I am under the influence. Most of the time, what I see is so different from who they are under normal circumstances, it freaks me out and makes me question which version is real. 

3. If it produces smoke, it gives me a migraine when I wake up after the buzz wears off. My sinuses are highly sensitive to smoke and swell shut when exposed. The result is a massive headache later that day or early the next. (Which is why I mostly mouth-breathed while in Whitefish due to the smoke coming in from the wildfires)

4. Because of my social anxiety and deep seated distrust in the public, I have a high probability of getting the paranoid buzz. Not a fun way to spend 3-4 hours of my life.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve done a small assortment from my teens into my early 30’s. I’ve just never had an itch for their continual use. I might spark the devil’s lettuce 2-3 times over a week and then not have an interest for another year or two. Then again, I might decide a month later to have another powwow. 

Eventually, I completely lost interest in it. No real reason. Just stopped having an interest.

Fast forward to my last day in Montana, I became aware that recreational cannabis was legal. I had noticed the dispensaries scattered through town, but I figured they were just like the other CBD retail locations… Nope. They had legal Cheech & Chong available. The fact there was a store within a 5 minute walk of my condo suggested that maybe it was time to have another go. Who knows. Maybe unlock some additional creativity I’ve had locked away somewhere. Or maybe it could finally allow me to let my mind go and calm the fuck down. Only one way to find out.

I hobbled to the store and walked inside to find a giant chalkboard hanging along the right wall. The walk-in area was just big enough for me and the store’s mascot dog to coexist in. Between me and the employee was a glass case. The store was very basic, but had a ton of info on that chalkboard. So many names of products. So many products written in different colors -obviously a color code of some sort, but I had no idea what I was looking at.

To expedite the process, I looked at the girl behind the counter and told her my situation. I was basically a rookie again and needed help. I asked what would be the best for someone in my position. She gave me two options. Something-Mango or Girl Scout Cookies. I responded that mangos taste like body odor so I’d pass on that. She laughed and said it was just the strain’s name. The product didn’t taste like that. Rather weird naming convention if you ask me, but ok. Then again, can you imagine a product that gives people the munchies while tasting like Girl Scout Cookies? Talk about a land of stoners.

After educating me on names, she then pointed out the differences between Sativa, Indica, and hybrid. Sativa was more for daytime. Indica was night. Hybrid was, of course, a mix of both. It being night and me needing rest, I optioned for the Girl Scout Cookies, which was Indica.

Next option – Did I want a single 1g preroll or 2 half-gram prerolls? They were equal in price. How the hell would I know what’s best? I’m practically brand new to this. The only thing I was certain of was that I couldn’t stay up all night and I couldn’t take it with me. Although the entire west coast legalized it, I did not know the legalities of transporting it across state lines. The girl made the choice for me. It would be a single 1g Girl Scout Cookie. Good enough.

I placed the product in my pocket and hobbled back to the condo. No lie. I was excited. It was such a weird experience standing in a retail store ordering cannabis like it was ice cream and not having fear a uniformed welcoming party was on the other side of the door when I walked out.

I decided to wait until it was dark so I could sit on the upstairs patio. Although legal, there is a law that outlines where it can and cannot be consumed. Public use is forbidden. And although I was on my own balcony, I was still outside. No idea how that would play out, but I wasn’t in the mood to test the fates.

Assuming the worst case scenario based on memories of my younger years, I decided to pack everything I could prior to sparking up. That way I’d have very little to account for the next morning in case I had brain fog or a nasty headache from the smoke. I then tossed my dirty clothes into the washer and planned to wait to start it until after I consumed the preroll. That way none of my clothes would smell like weed which in turn would prevent my suitcase from smelling like weed.

Once pre-travel chores were completed, it was on the darker side of twilight. I didn’t have much longer to wait. I stripped down to my wife-beater and house shorts before making my way upstairs to the patio with my laptop and oversized drink cup under my arm. It wasn’t pitch black outside quite yet, but screw it – close enough. 

I sat myself down on the patio floor between the fire pit and outdoor sectional. This was to aid in hiding my activities from both prying and accidental eyes. I had no idea what to expect once I was traveling on the other side of reality, but I needed to feel safe from public view. With everything in place, I opened my little gift packet and slid the 1g pre-roll from its plastic tube into the palm of my hand for inspection. One end looked like it had a filter of some sort. The other was twisted closed like a bread bag. Damn, it was thick. The plan was to smoke half and depending on how long the journey lasted, maybe spark the second half to increase the duration of my cerebral kaleidoscope adventure.

This is where the cheap refillable lighter I purchased just before the trip came into play. Originally, I picked it up as a survival tool just in case I needed it. Maybe it was actually a subconscious precursor? With the one-fingered flip, the top kicked back to expose the wick and friction wheel. Just a couple of spins and thanks to my cavemen ancestors, I had fire.  With the preroll tucked securely between my lips, fire met paper and I drew the virgin hit into my lungs. There it stayed for a few seconds before returning the vaporized ash back to nature and drawing in my 2nd, then 3rd and 4th… And so on…

Before long I was half way through, so I ground the cherry off on a fire pit brick and returned the leftover to the packet from which it originally came.

And I waited.

And I waited.

When I was younger I could have sworn that the buzz usually hit within minutes of the first draw. This didn’t. I sat there for a few minutes longer waiting to feel the old familiar feelings of impending quantum teleportation. I sensed something stirring around inside my head, but was unsure what to make of it. That’s when I saw my laptop and phone on the couch. I’d just open it up while I waited and do some creative writing. To be honest, writing while under the influence was my primary motivation for doing this at all. I was genuinely curious what I’d have to share and how I’d deliver that information.

I tucked the cannabis packaging back into my pocket and leaned over to flip open my laptop.

…

(Time passes by)

…

Ok. Wait.

…

(more time passes by)

…

I look around my immediate area and feel slightly confused. I could have sworn I was going to start writing, but I’m still sitting here like I’m contemplating it.

…

(Time passes by)

…

Ok. I’m so far gone that I didn’t even realize I keep spacing out. Gotcha. Now that I realize what’s happening, I can focus and..

…

…

…

DAMMIT.

It’s like this – Have you ever opened a door before realizing a strong gust of wind was in progress -just to have the wind rip the door from your hand and practically come off its hinges? Well, that’s what happened here. I felt a small tingle inside my head and 30 minutes later I realized I had been staring into the sky practically drooling on my shirt. This was supposed to be for lightweights? For fuck’s sake. The heavier stuff would have left me there for dead. 

Seriously…I was a passenger inside a mind that had broken free and was screaming along a superhighway of information. I had zero control over where my mind went and how I felt about anything. It was a waterfall drowning me in cascading questions, answers and observations. I tilted my head back and looked to the stars for their input… Or maybe I was hoping to see some aliens. IDK. It felt like my neck bent well beyond its normal range of motion in order to rest on the water-stained cushions behind me. If I could have felt anything, I’m sure it would not have been comfortable.

I’d randomly snap back to reality long enough to return my head to its natural position… and then start the process all over again. You’ve seen those rocking rain collectors in people’s front yards right? The kind that lean back till they have enough water, then travel forward to dump it all out, then back to start? Yeah, that was me bobbing my head back and forth. I had hoped to focus on a fire in the fire pit in order to have something to keep me in the moment, but there was no propane remaining in the tank. Looking back, the empty tank was probably a blessing. Since I had the critical thinking power of river rocks, there was a chance I would’ve blown myself up in some unique and fancy way.

I fought hard enough to keep one brain cell sober – It’s sole purpose was to prevent me from drooling on myself or walking off the balcony, because yes, I was that deep in a vegetative state. For what felt like hours (in reality maybe 10 minutes) my head rolled around my shoulders in much the same way a newborn baby’s head will just roll around like a marble if it’s not supported.

Eventually I regained control of my oversized noggin and sat upright – Just in time for the second stage to drop in and my head crash back down to the cushion. I was even less prepared for the live action painting that was hurling in my direction. I stopped seeing the world around me and began to visualize my body as some sort of battleground between my internally generated heat and the cooler air outside. I could see the actual line the two sides battled over. The outside air was marching through my skin in an attempt to cool me off. My body’s defenses met the invading chill half way through and when the two sides collided, a fight broke out. The line these two powers fought across appeared to me as a thick line made of static. In some places the night air was winning. In others, my defenses held strong. My entire body tingled from the violence being waged across its fleshy armor. Distractions stacked upon distractions and I experienced everything at once.

Then my final gear arrived. If you ever watched the movie Contact with Jodi Foster, you may remember when they dropped her pod through the gate and as she traveled through the universe, her chair began to shake violently until it broke from its mount. Once what did not belong was removed, she found everything else to be exceptionally calm and peaceful. That’s exactly how my transition took place. Once all the garbage I had locked away was purged, all that remained was silence and tranquility.

My metaphysical gifts made their way forward. You see, many years ago, I was made aware of certain gifts I have had since childhood. For an entire day almost 10 years ago, I experienced the world in a completely different manner. I saw what it could be and was immediately addicted. I was disconnected from humanity. I had no emotions, only sensations and interpretations of what I felt. I was completely sober and yet could see things no one else could. I was able to feel things no one else could. I didn’t want to come back to reality. I had found a place where my emotions did not dictate my actions. For the first time in my life, I felt as one… with everything. I found where I belonged. 

I knew most people would neither understand nor accept what I had experienced as real, but I gained so many answers to things I experienced as a kid. So much made sense. But as I was warned in advance, my supercharged awareness faded over a few days and I begrudgingly returned back to the physical world with the understanding there was a good chance that where I had been for the past couple of days would never be attainable again. At least not for a very long time and without a total change in my lifestyle and how much I dedicated myself to the craft of energy work.

That night in Montana on the balcony was the closest I’ve ever been to that initial experience. I began to feel sounds throughout my entire body. And I do not mean the percussive forces from doors shutting or loud exhaust notes emitted by passing traffic. I’m talking about being able to tune into a 50+ yard diameter around where I sat. Every sound, no matter how low. Every movement no matter how small. With my eyes closed, I was one with everything around me. I could see the sound waves and frequencies. From time to time I could even see the color variations of each individual sound. 

It quickly overwhelmed me. I was unable to control the flow of sensory input and the situation became unsustainable. It was a blitzkrieg of thoughts, sounds, colors, and sensations. I kept fighting to regain my composure, but the experience was way too far off the rails. I gave up, laid my head back on the cushion and gave in. As I relinquished the final ounce of control I had, my mind began 3D mapping the area around me. (Think of Batman’s use of cell phones to create a sonic map of the city) When I heard a new noise that was close enough, my mind would identify where the sound was emanating from and show me where it was in relation to where I was at. If the sound was out of mapping range, I would see an indicator telling me what direction it originated from. It was supernatural in every way and while someone could argue it was a dream or hallucination, I can attest to the fact that I was so wired there was no way sleep was possible and the only time I have ever hallucinated I was not on cannabis.

I have no idea how long I was gone, but at one point, my eyes opened and I regained control of my neck and head. That’s when I heard a car door shut. Ironically, because my eyes were open, I no longer had access to my mental mapping. I had no idea where the car was located. I was so distracted that I forgot I could get up and see for myself. Instead, I sat there listening. After the door closed, the car did not pull away. It continued to idle in place. That’s when I felt the ground shake from a door being closed.

“Fuck. That felt like my front door. Is that why I regained consciousness? To be prepared for whoever is about to come through that door? I know I locked it before heading upstairs, but it’s an electronic nest lock so it can be remotely disarmed. They know it’s my last night here. Did they send someone to rob or take me? Man, they are going to be disappointed if they came for me specifically.”

Then I heard a motorcycle fire up and sit idling for longer than a rider would normally let it run before taking off. “What’s that motorcycle waiting on? Are they with the car downstairs? What the fuck is going on? I need to see if someone’s in my condo, but what if they are? What good would an old, stoned, crippled, fat man do aside from hurting myself before they could even get to me?”

(Yes, the paranoid buzz had arrived)

Then I heard voices, but they were low. At least two people. A lookout and a thief? I mean, most of the condos around me were empty so the chances of them being seen were really slim.

“Is this how shit is going to end for me? Really? Taken out at my very first stop? You have got to be shitting me. There’s no way. I have to be sliding into paranoia. I need to go inside and get away from all this.”

…

…

…

“But what if I get inside and become even more paranoid about what’s outside the doors? I won’t want to open either door for fear of someone standing there. What’s worse? Out here waiting for someone to come out the balcony door or inside hiding in my bedroom waiting for someone to come through either door?”

…

…

“Fuck it. I’m going inside. Whatever happens, happens.”

…

…

What happened was that I found myself returning to this dimension in the exact same spot at least 3 more times before accepting that I had to move my ass if I desired to go inside. I required use of my legs. (insert more paranoia) But will they allow me to stand and then hold me once I’m up? Even sober, I’d rate their reliability on par with purchasing a high mileage rental car from an auto auction. The consequences of what I planned to do ranged from a successful transfer back inside the condo to my trip ending early because I got hospitalized somehow. So yeah, there’s a bit of a fucking gap to consider.

I had to get up. I wasn’t about to sleep on the balcony. I placed my hands on the couch behind me (like I was doing a dip in the gym). I lifted as much as I could with my arms in order to raise my body enough to get my legs under me. First attempt failed. I would have to divert every ounce of energy I had available to push my legs hard enough to fully stand up. So that’s what I did. I concentrated as hard as I could on standing up. When I closed my eyes, I could see the muscles and tendons quivering inside my leg from the pressure being exerted on them. The strain was immense, but I did manage to finally stand upright enough to sit on the couch. With that part completed, it was time to focus on actual progress towards the door. Once again, all my focus was getting the rest of the way up. The movement to stand from seated required just as much attention. And again, I could visually see my anatomy moving and shifting to maintain balance while continuing the upward trajectory.

I was standing, but there would be one final obstacle I failed to plan for. The useless fire pit. Although it now served as an obstacle so it could be argued that it was not, in fact, useless. No matter. I still had to maneuver my way around it. I had real concerns. Had I been sober, my anxiety would have triggered an attack. But I was still 50 shades of fucked up, so all that anxiety had no real effect on me. I decided my only choice was to shuffle my feet sideways between the sectional and the pit. I turned my back to the fire pit, bent over and put my hands on the sectional cushions. Visualize the lower case “n”. That was me bent over. Once I was stable, I began to side-shuffle like people do inside a crowded movie theater. Except my hands were also shuffling along the cushion to keep me stable and balanced.

I can only imagine someone walking out onto their balcony at 10pm and observing some weirdo bent over crab walking around his sectional. I assuredly looked goofy as hell, but I needed to get inside the condo and that was the only way I could confidently complete the mission in one piece.

The distance to cover was no more than 6 feet, but it was 6 of the most mind-bending feet I’ve ever traveled. With every step, a picture of the inside of my leg formed in my mind. It was as though I could see two different places at the same time – the couch I was using for support and the inner workings of whichever leg was active. And when I say inner workings, I literally mean I could see muscle, tendons, ligaments, and joints moving (in some cases grinding) synchronically in an effort to keep me upright and moving forward. There was nothing I could do about it. My brain was doing its own thing while allowing me to use just enough of its power to breathe and walk – ok, shuffle – towards my goal. After what must have been 10 minutes (3) I arrived at the door and made my way in.

Well, then it was time to face the real danger. Let’s see if the spaceman could make it down the SPIRAL STAIRCASE. Since I either did not remember what being under the influence was like or severely underestimated the power of today’s preroll, I waaaay overestimated what my physical capabilities would be while under the influence. While I could have called an audible and slept upstairs, the 2nd story was not cool due to the vents on the 2nd floor being closed and out of my reach. I could sleep outside or downstairs. That was my 2 choices.

Now I could have left my laptop and drink cup upstairs, but I held on to them long enough for both to become one with my body. I failed to realize I was still holding them. By the time I realized my situation, I was too close to the stairs to turn back. I had to find a way down a narrow-ass, near vertical, metal, spiral staircase with two bad knees, a bad left ankle and a bad left wrist while holding an oversized drink cup and my Macbook -which pretty much my entire life was in. What could possibly go wrong? Did I mention there was only one rail to hold on to and due to my limited articulation in my left hand, I had to hold all my shit in the right… which was where the rail was.

So I basically leaned right to rest against the rail while my left hand held onto the post in order to pin myself between the two. I must have looked like Mr. Bean trying to come down those stairs with my arm full of stuff and me leaning out and over the hand rail sliding down to the first floor. But hey, it’s only crazy if it doesn’t work, right? I made it down in one piece. That’s all that mattered.

I must have started my descent from the buzz once inside as everything else is foggy. By the time I made it to the bedroom I was huffing like I had come from track practice. Once I settled down, I stripped all my clothes off, tossed them in the washer, and initiated the cycle. I’d dry them in the morning. Into the bed I climbed and settled in to get some hardcore sleep time.

Over the next 3 hours I continued to wake up on my knees and the balls of my feet facing the wall – on top of the mattress. While this is a rather odd way to wake up, I found it especially disturbing because my knees do NOT respond well to having weight placed on them in such a manner… Yet there I was.

I ended up with only 2.5 hours of sleep, but it was some of the deepest, most relaxing slumber I’ve had in a very long time. I woke up energized, yet supremely mellow. Someone knew I needed the previous night’s reboot along with the morning mellow in order to cope with the shitshow that was about to unfold for me later that day –  but that’s a different entry.