Looking for weed (Conclusion)

Chris Tosic

Guess what, nothing happened. Nichts. De nada. Zilch. You know, nothing happened and it's all good. Actually, I like that nothing happened. I like nothingness. I'll take nothingness over everythingness anytime. Of course I too suffer from expectations. But they can be met in other ways. For instance, I expected to get high, or stoned, out of my mind, and finally be showered with bliss with aforementioned friend H. In the end, I didn't even touch the stuff. The extremely sought after bag of Amsterdam Coffee is still sitting in my coat pocket, drying out slowly. Is this wasteful? Is the pope catholic? And it wasn't for lack of opportunities. This weekend, with Mladic out of the way, and my sparring partner since '83 in attendance, there were many, many opportunities to go get stoned. With or without H. True, H. did get stoned. At least, he smoked, outside of the restaurant, before, after, and even during courses, table manners not being his greatest concern. But I didn't join him. Why not? Why the hesitation, the lethargy, the rigid continuity in being seated at the table? To be honest, I have no idea. I was already content, I guess. The state of the universe, as it were, turned out to be beautiful and sufficient. I wasn't that desperate to be showered with bliss. Or I was a little suspicious that De Tweede Kamer's 'strongest weed available' would spoil, instead of enhance, the fun I was already having. Call it Bad Trip Angst. Meanwhile, it didn't look like H. was having a bad trip. Actually, H.'s behavior didn't show any signs of weed intake. Had everything been for nothing?