meximick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I had a drug moment It hadn�t happened to him in years. A drug panic like he had never felt before, fell on him while the jam band on stage continued on their long and drawn-out tribute to Phish. 30 minutes before he had taken another small hit off the pipe before he smoked his out-the-door cigarette. He was very stoned. Though the pot had looked fairly unimpressive - darker green with a mild, piney smell � it was remarkably potent. He had seen and smoked more expensive and better looking stuff just last week. Jane had asked him earlier in the afternoon if he would like a bit before she left. Reaching into the sandwich bag and taking what he felt to be a small, modest little bud, about half a bowl. It would be enough to get him stoned, he thought. Jane called just as he sat himself down to enjoy his dinner. Also just as he had smoked a bong hit. And lit a cigarette. And turned on the Playstation. And put on Jimi Hendrix: Live at the BBC. And began to watch �PCU� that Mike had probably rented earlier which though not what he considered to be a �good� film, was one he couldn�t stop himself from watching when it was on cable. But he didn�t have cable. He was very entertained, in any case. She laughed into the phone, �Oh my God. Are you as high as I am? This is fucking terrible. I can barely stand up!" It was true. He thought to himself that the high he and Jane were currently feeling was not some culmination of the effects of smoking pot all the previous night, but a new and strongly euphoric high from a small bit of ordinary looking grass. Convincing himself that he would be going nowhere this night, he fended off her initial offer to see the Dead-Phish jam-style band, but she was persistent. She didn't want to go alone, and he hadn't been out to a bar in a while. He finally agreed. It also helped that she agreed to pay for the night's entertainment and transportation. He drank a White Russian and bummed a few smokes from Jane. It would a while before the show started, so he and Jane conversed. It was getting more crowded, so she suggested they move upstairs, away from the crowded stage front area. After 20 minutes, he realized he would not be able to make it through even his first drink. It had been mostly vodka, anyway. He began to feel sleepy. The band opened with a tune that was a cross between early Dead and Rush - lots of futuristic synthesizer flourishes and vocal harmonies. It was pleasant. Not great, but then again he really didn't care too much about anything at this point. He looked over at Jane. He said slowly, "I feel weird." "I don't feel right at all." His head was heavy and his mind became clouded. It was difficult for him to assess his condition, but he knew it was worsening. He felt the blood escaping from his head. His blood pressure was falling rapidly. Jane asked him, "Are you all right? You don't look good." He agreed with her assessment, "I can't stay here. I have to go home." He put his head between his knees and tried to breathe deeply. Nothing helped. His body temperature felt like it fell 20 degrees, and he broke out in a sweat. All he could do was drink ice water and breathe and hope this feeling would pass. He hadn't felt this terrible in a very long time. And he felt like he was slipping away. He couldn't stay awake. He would have panicked if he could only have forced himself, but he was helpless. Jane was now sitting next to him. She said, "You've got to stay awake! Breathe with me� Deep breaths. You'll get through this." He shook his head, but could barely keep his head upright or his eyes open. He muttered, "Let me sleep. No, it's ok..." If any concertgoers had looked up above and to the right of the stage, they would have seen Jane slapping him in the face to stop him from losing consciousness. It started to work. She had wanted to avoid a scene - you know, the scene where the EMTs strap your friend to a gurney and send him to the ER. But he quietly wished someone had called him an ambulance, because he felt like he was dying. He wondered if he had brought his HMO card with him, but then her slaps to his face brought him around. His arms felt lifeless. Pins and needles. Couldn't move his hands right. He was exhausted, and covered in sweat. And slowly he began to feel better again. 22:20:55 - 2001-03-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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