Bad, bad brownies.
Subject: [Insert 30 seconds of thinking up a vapid subject line.]
Whoa. OK, ol' Spence is having some trouble waking from the trance his was put in last night. Words of advice: Don't. Ever. Eat. Brownies. That. Your. Friend. Made.
Shit. I wasn't just high. I was freaked-out high. You know, you can't say anything because every time you're about to speak you stop because you think you already said it. Then you start having an argument with yourself, which turns into you laughing at yourself, which turns into people thinking you're fucking weird.
Yeah, that's how I felt last night. I was seeing tracers and everything. Not cool. Well, it was cool, but not when I was driving home on the interstate at night time. Don't get me wrong: I love seeing shit. But there's a proper place and time for that. Not driving home at 6:30.
I'm usually not a weed man. I'll smoke it every once in a while, probably averaging to about three times a month. Well, eating this "brownie" was nothing like smoking weed. It takes about 45 minutes for it to hit you. Then it gets stronger. And stronger. I began speaking in another language it seemed like. Every time I opened my mouth to talk, it was like I had the stalk from a huge weed plant stuck in my mouth. I just kinda made noises that no one understood.
I went to bed at about 9:30 and woke up high. I've kinda snapped out of it though — thanks to a frappucino and my girlfriend's ADD medicine.
So my point of this entry? If you've never tried those brownies, do it — but with care. Don't eat more than one. Believe me.