Next, I had to figure out how to obtain enough marijuana to last me the weekend, which turned out to be surprisingly easy. My neighbour across the street, lets just call him Mr. Giggles, travels to Colorado once a month and loads up his 1978 Dodge Omni, with as much weed infused cookies, cakes, and gummy bears, as it will hold, then sneaks back home and sells it to people who should really just be getting drunk, like a good Christian.
This was my first outing with the devil weed, so I wanted it to be as authentic an experience as possible. I purchased a Lava Lamp, flip-flops, and a poster of Cheech and Chong that glowed in the dark. I decided not to burn the herb however, because I'm afraid of the demons that form in clouds of smoke, so instead bought a loaf of green banana bread and several coconut gumdrops, which Mr. Giggles warned me to take in moderation.
I'm old enough to remember the pleasure of taking a phone "off the hook" when you didn't want to be disturbed, turning your ringer off doesn't have the same feeling of finality to it, but that's what I did. I also locked the doors and turned all the lights off, thinking this would help prevent me from seeing the purple dragons I knew would soon arrive.
Mr. Giggles suggested I eat one small slice of banana bread to begin with then wait an hour to see how I was feeling. He felt that because I was a new comer to the world of marijuana a very small portion would be enough to "take me to the moon", but I really like banana bread and ate the whole thing in one sitting. Next, I popped a couple of the gum drops in my mouth and washed it all down with a lovely cream soda.
It was about forty minutes later that my urge to play the ukulele became so strong I decided to build one out of an old shoe box and fishing line. As I think back on it now, I remember the music I played being some of the most beautiful I had ever heard. It was like I was an angel on a fluffy cloud, strumming along with the heart beat of Jesus, using a harp that smelled like feet. I played that thing for about eleven hours, then fell asleep on the ping pong table with a ball in my mouth.
The next morning I had none of those hungover feelings I get after drinking a pony-keg of rum, or the feelings of guilt from throwing up on someone's child, instead I felt well rested and extremely hungry. I made a giant breakfast of bacon and eggs, then purchased another loaf of banana bread, which I toasted this time thinking that would make it less potent, and ate it all, along with the rest of the gum drops and a can of pie filling.
That day consisted of deep introspection about my life and my place in this word. I remember coming to the realization that I didn't have to pretend to be something I'm not in order to impress people I hardly knew. If I could just be myself, people would love me for who I am, and if they didn't, that was okay too because they were probably stupid.
If my imaginary dwarfism made some people uncomfortable that wasn't my fault, nor was it my job to change how they think. I could live my life pretending to be small and I could be happy doing it, no madder what the naysayers assumed.
So did the marijuana cure my dwarfism? No, but it did alter my consciousness in such a way that allowed me to accept who I am and love myself in a way not previously possible. Maybe I'll never be able to ride the roller coaster at the park, or fire a shot gun without the recoil throwing me across the room, but I'm happier knowing that anytime the burdens of the world weigh heavy on my little shoulder, my good friend Mr. Giggles is right across the street.