It's a sunny Sunday, I'm off, and I have no idea what to do with myself. That's a lie, I have plenty of things I could be doing. But my marijuana-muddled motivation has slipped low, picture me falling down drunk on the icy driveway and laying still instead of standing. That's where I'm at.
So what am I doing? Sipping water and smoking pot and staring at the internet, wanting an option. I know I'm living the life of an addict. What's it going to take for me to stop? This is something my therapist has been really getting on me about. He gets this worried look on his face and speaks to me like I'm idiotic.
I am, I really am, and I'm human too, so the usual excuses can all be applied here. But he expects more of me, like I expect more of everyone. I demand you to jump and I command you to promptly ask "how high?"
Was that a pun? A smoking pun infused into my words like I put it there subconsciously, as if my brain only recognizes the connections between smoking and everything. Do I give my brain the choice? Do I have a choice?
*****
Yours,
Sar
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