smoking weed

my parents would ask if i wanted to smoke weed with them, once they learned I was doing it anyway. especially my dad. i always said no, didn’t question it. i know why now. 

i would smoke weed to make myself more entertaining. more "fun." i would smoke weed to give myself enough dopamine to enjoy the lazy uninspired shit people regularly say. to be able to laugh at it. to feel that precious human “connection” everybody’s always talking about.

it's hard to settle for reality when you've got screens. the algorithms are showing you the best of humanity all the time, the wittiest, wisest folks and their best ideas, curated perfectly to satisfy just and only YOU. how can real life humans compete with the perfect glowing entertainment rectangle? 

i would smoke weed to make people like me and make me like people. i got high to tolerate my girlfriend. and so she would tolerate me.

one time i was interacting with a girlfriend purely sober and she was like you seem a little off today, weird vibes, i don't know :// and so i excused myself to the bathroom but actually went out into the living room to take a fat hit of my electronic weed pen, blowing it clean out the window before returning to her in the bedroom. she was back to having a great normal old time in about three minutes. laughing. overcome with joy. leeching my newfound enthusiasm for life.

but with my parents, i never needed to make them like me. they deeply naturally loved me, however i was. maybe because i'm all they had left. the one last thing they didn't spectacularly fuck up. their last chance to feel good about themselves. but what do I know?