22 nd December.

Friday, 22 December
1.56 p.m.
Just nicely crawled out of bed, had cuppa and ciggie, having Joint.
Once again looks like day will be a wipe-out.
Have no energy or impetus to do anything. Chest is causing concern, am wheezing and crackling like a good ‘UN.
Had a good afternoon’s sleep and night time as well, have no energy whatsoever,
will have to get back on track tomorrow if I want shopping done.

First J of day is sapping what little strength I had to sit up etc. feel immobilised.
Spot on bot is giving some jip, even though I gave it some fresh air last night and slept without trackie bottoms on.
Had a decent sleep eventually, took some time to drop off, wheezing being the problem.
Typing is slow and laboured, as is breathing;
joint is slowly having an effect.

First stone of day sets the pace; if it comes on gently then some level of activity may be maintained but if it hits the headpiece hard then the day is generally a wipeout and all thoughts of activity disappear.
My neighbour is having a conversation; staccato like affair akin to Beavus and Butthead in the faint sounds, which permeate through the floorboards,
I decided sounds are needed and I break.
Re-united with meditation sounds, typing is getting difficult and I’m feeling slightly nauseous.
The room is no warmer and my fingers are cold.
I decide another joint and back to bed to listen to sounds.
I beak for same.
I refill my Zippo, in preparation for the task.

Very lightly loaded joint, don’t want to be out of it just yet.

A mixture of Nicotine craving and gear appreciation is going on.
My body hungers for both., as it drags the mix of smokes down deeply into the lungs to begin the transfer.
I am aware once again of the element of cold present in the room.
Like the touch of cold steel upon ones cheek.
The fire cracks as elements expand with the heat and frightens the life outa me!
Really made me jump big time.
I look at the spelling mistakes and try harder, yet they persist.
Following in the wake of my writing., making their appearance as a school of dolphins would by popping up all over the place.

The room warms, I am now taking in lung full of dry heated air, my mouth and throat dry up totally.
My tongue searches for moisture but finds none available.
My breathing is shorter and more pronounced.
My head and neck are lighter yet my stomach feels heavy as lead,
heart and stomach occasionally thumping for no apparent reason.
I let myself fall further under and my body relaxes even though I’m sat in an uncomfortable position to type.
The sounds are gently drifting through my head and the world is pleasant enough.
I breathe deeply and relax my chest and humped back,
I relax my neck even further holding my head upright with a struggle.

I met my dealer the other day and was invited to cast an eye over his decorating; he’s made a brilliant job of a difficult shaped room, furnishings are everything the single man could want and he has created his hide away, his retreat from the reality of being a father and partner.
He was showing me his tablets and told me of his mental state.
Classic signs of very short term memory loss, space of minutes!
He was all over the shop trying to multi task and interact verbally almost non-stop.
While trying to enjoy a taster I was subjected to his show of erratic behaviour and then I realised I was seeing what I was like prior to the crack-up!
He confided in me he was taking regular amounts of skunk daily,
probably too much for his own good.
He was showing all the signs of being manic;
I recognised them all.
I was to be a captive audience whether I liked it or not,
I tried to refocus him onto the more urgent of matters such as getting his passport application sent off as soon as possible.
He had a doctors appointment later, he informed me while skinning up another joint,

what about being stoned? I asked,
“Helps me put on the sad act”, he gleefully told me.
I smiled.
I could only admire his reliance upon his acting ability;
he had little control over the majority of his thoughts and actions.
Forgetting where he was and what he was doing there, short-term memory loss.
I casually assured him that we all get it sooner or later and its something to get used to.
I could not have asked for someone better to re-enact what I’d gone through with overuse of cannabis.
He was getting together a pretty strong dependency on the stronger variety,
which retails for much more than the average street deal;
it was going to cost him a lot of money.
In my heyday, the days became sessions, often out spanning the recognised 24 hr period,
26, 28 hr days were the norm, sleep was taken when in fear of collapse and in the event of same.
Painkillers, coffee; and a plentiful supply of ready rolled joints fuelled these sessions; often 20 per session wouldn’t be uncommon.

Just having an argument with grammar check, will not take no for an answer.

The dealers decorating which I’m sure began with him being in control has now become fragmented and as such harder to finish,
Lots of ideas in is head, hope some come to fruition.
He desperately needs to slow down, he’s in danger of burning out.
His search for peace and quiet is never going to be fulfilled, not with him living two separate versions of his life as a single person and part time father and partner.
His wife is fond of texting so he will be forever dangling from her line of communication.
I feel sorry for him because he will no doubt attempt to build his Shangri la but he will fail to find a true retreat.

Never knew a dealer yet who could relax;
They always seemed to be on edge.
Experiencing that feeling in the pit of ones stomach every time the doorbell went; living with the possibility of a bust at anytime hanging over you. Choosing friends and acquaintances very carefully, separating family life from the business side.
Trying not to come to the attention of the big boys.
Or even indeed that of the neighbours.
Its not a glamorous life and it takes a lot out of you!
Uncertainty, doubt, pressure to supply and procure, pressure to make money and not just fund habit.
Dealer users seldom last long, their habit overtakes them and they dry up and fade away.

This pile of gear has been my Xmas present to myself,
I have thoroughly enjoyed the stone and the pain relief it has afforded.
Also nice break, no cigarettes
I used to be able to type when stoned but have got out of the habit.
Now on third joint and tying ability is decreasing by the minute, hellish weird mistakes.
I can imagine me getting annoyed if typing like this when hypo.
Will I ever master the keyboard when stoned?
Takes some degree of effort and concentration.
Third joint isn’t having any immediate effect it just lingers like a vacant raincoat; there if necessary.
I’m in a warm room filled with the heavy smoke of Cannabis, listening to sounds and trying to type.
I’m approaching the roach, soon time to part company.
The smoke fills the room akin to that of any poker gathering.
Trying to type when stoned is so hopeless a cause,
I do it for the challenge and the laugh at the amount of mistakes, which need correcting before continuing too far.
Good practise.
Good exercise in self-control, controlling one’s heart rate during stress,
In an effort to improve typing efficiency I tried to move receiver nearer and succeeded in disconnecting cables took some effort to reconnect i.e. having to move etc.
First decent sentences, perhaps receiver at fault, have spent a long time correcting errors, which may have not being of my making!
Would have made the day’s challenge a little easier.
Am unable to type at raised angle so have to lay keyboard flat, must interrupt signal when raised up on knee.
Getting stiff neck so time to quit.