#notastoner

Reminiscing about the good old days always puts me on a nostalgic high that is easy to come down from. My childhood was as mediocre as my seemingly adult adulthood has become. No fucking surprise there though, I still live with my parents and I don't even make enough money to join a union and strike. Economic woes aside...I can't afford to do drugs. Literally I'm too broke. And apart from the logistics, generally I choose - I make an active, conscious decision not to use any kind of substance. Alcohol,of course, is excluded from these substances I try so hard to stay away from. 

I don't need to see the world as clear as fucking possible so I stay away. I'm not judging, why the fuck would I do that. I just believe in what works for me, be it a crooked definition of sobriety or way too many vodka shots. My sister however walk on the path more traveled and wanders in the realms of all encompassing induced realities, be it chemical or natural. God, I pray she doesn't use the cheap ass meth stuff?! Wouldn't be able to deal with all that baking soda drama. Weed, she smokes weed. And she'd do MDMA again. And she too, still unceremoniously still live with my parents. However, she dabbled on her own for a while and brought some weed back here. Like the Shakespeare-loving, drama studying, depro-poem reading, left wing liberating 'kaalvoet' hippie that she is, she put it in the middle of a book on the shelf in her room. The weed is inside a folded up page in the book and the book is the first book on the shelf.  They put them small mother fuckers on the shelves where you pay for you're purchase. And they put it there for a reason. You bought milk and meat and toilet paper and butter and airtime and Handy Andy and old doughnuts wrapped in cling wrap and with a dated price tag and you're well on your merry way to go to the till and pay R25 000 000 for the 7 items in your germ filled trolley. And there, these bright colored, sweet tasting bubble gums/chocolates/lollipops/ small mother fuckers are. So tempting that at the last moment you bend over and let the greedy capitalist system fuck you gently from behind and pay them, with whatever dignity you may or may not have left, for their services. Its not your fault, though. Well, inherently it is, because you should still have will power, you animal, you.  The unfriendly, overweight and underpaid, cashiers at Shoprite are to blame for your moment of weakness too, because as they take forever to ring up the "quecrastinator's" sad excuse for a Friday night dinner in front of you, you're eyes attends to these small mother fuckers and you think...my teeth do feel dirty after that piece of bread after I had lunch and you bend over and buy some Orbit. So if you were to walk by the shelf in my sisters room, this first book would be like those small mother fuckers by the till at the store and you would open the book to 'read', and then you'd find the...well its not a baggie. Its not even enough to make a joint.  My dad would over dramatize everything in life...in life, I tell you, if he were to find this little bundle of weed in the house, let alone in my sisters room and I, again do not have time for this Christopher Columbus shit and calmly took the folded up weed from her bookshelf and relocated it.

Fuck...I was not calm. My palms became sweety and I could detect my heart rate going up.  I raced from her room to mine and like the idiotic, impulsive, weed police recruit that I apparently am, did not have a place in my mind where I were to put the weed. Second drawer, under my pink file, I then quickly decided. Bear in mind I've never had weed on me as a person (sic) and the place in my room where I'd hide alcohol can't  double as weed hideout. Second drawer, under my pink file seemed legit and would be great cause no one would look in that drawer, my study material is in there. Plan was to just put it there and leave it till my sister came home from her holiday, but then I had shaky wet hands and an elevated heart rate and every little sound I heard sounded like Joan Rivers's voice and I fuckin' couldn't put a piece of folded paper with illegal grass in it under my pink file in the second drawer.    Mother fuckers fell out and now the whole left side of the draw is filled with weed. I'm not sure what to do now, though. And I hate cleaning the inside of drawers, I usually just take them out and turn them over. Maybe that is what I should since weed makes you paranoid and I don't even smoke it.