Coping through laughter
Hello friends,
A few nights ago, I got way too high. It was an accident. About an hour beforehand, I filled up a vape cart with some Cookie Toast distillate. After I filled the cart, I licked the remaining bit of oil off of the syringe. I always do this after I load a cart. Weed in Florida is not cheap, so I’m not about to waste any. I didn’t realize, however, that a decent-sized glob of distillate remained in the syringe tip. I only discovered this fact after I’d sucked the whole thing into my mouth. Upon ingesting this unknown quantity of oil, I settled into bed with a book. When I began to feel the initial effects, I shut my light off and went to sleep.
Cut to who knows how many hours later, when my bladder woke me. I drank too much water before bed. I could tell I was high, but I didn’t realize how high through the fog of sleep. When I got up to pee, though, my legs faltered under me like that model who forgot how to walk in heels. (Please watch this video. I’ve seen it twelve billion times, and it still makes me wheeze.)
I didn’t stop, though. No way I was letting some wobbly legs keep me down. In near-darkness, struggling to contain my laughter, I teetered into the bathroom and had a glorious piss. I was more prepared for the jello-legs on my way back to bed, but I was also high. My brain decided it would be a good idea to lean into my collapsible legs, and I danced my way back to my room. Now, I use the term “dance” lightly. I wish video evidence existed of this because I must have looked like one of those flailing inflatable creatures outside car dealerships. I matched my arms to my legs, wiggling my whole body on the thankfully short journey. When I made it back to my bed, I fell asleep almost immediately, satisfied after my one-woman party.
We’ve all been through so much in the past year and a half. I don’t need to list all the ways our lives have changed. You’ve all lived it. And we’ve had enough op-eds on the myriad post-COVID crises. But one thing I do want to focus on is our ability to stay sane through said crises. For me, laughter is essential. It’s how I cope with depression, anxiety, OCD, and MS. I take whatever perks I can get, and I laugh at the rest.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. This newsletter is small, but I feel like we’re creating a little community of comfort. My goal is to keep building this community, so I have a couple of requests. The first requires hardly anything from you. All I ask is that you tell your friends about this newsletter. I’m currently at 95 subscribers. Can you help me break 100? My second request is that you think about becoming a paying subscriber. I know not everyone can justify spending extra money every month, but if you can, I’d really appreciate it. You’ll get access to my monthly Mundanities column, private subscriber-only discussion threads, and more. Just think about it. Pretty please.
Thanks again. I’ll see you next week.
Yardena