I may have also had encounters with something harder than caffeine and alcohol on a number of instances, but you could count the times on one hand, even if you had a few fingers cut off in an industrial accident.
Despite my lack of chemical experience, I was thinking about drugs tonight. You know, the hard stuff, the stuff that gets you put in jail just for having in your possession. The stuff that creates a giant and violent black market through its prohibition. That stuff. And I got to thinking, I really don't understand the deal with stimulants. Why does anyone want to me more hyper, agitated, or, god forbid, awake? There's no joy in jitters, no romance in a rushing heartbeat. Why would someone snort a line of coke when they can smoke a joint? Why would someone vacuum their entire house in a rage at four in the morning after doing whatever you do with meth when they could experience the better-than-sex high of heroin? Seriously, the stuff is supposed to be better than sex. If it weren't totally incompatible with a normal lifestyle and, well, living, I'd say we should all be doing it.
In fact, if I were looking to burn out bright and fast like I've always dreamed of doing, but always been too much of a coward to do, I'd head straight for the nearest tambourine man and free needle clinic I could find and inject myself so full of liquid nirvana that I'd forget I ever wanted to live. Yeah, that's the ticket!
Instead, I'll sit back with a beer tonight, watch the most recent episode of No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain on my DVR, and call it an early night, because after all, I'm too afraid of Tylenol and being a financial burden on my wife to ever hit the needle.
I'm also afraid of needles, but a boy can dream.
This post surprisingly composed without even the help of alcohol. It just sounds that way.