My mom and I recently hosted a new friend for dinner and drinks. I harbored a tinge of nervousness that typically arises when opening our home to a newcomer, but I’m eager to expand our Champaign social circle, so excitement suppressed most nerves. Shortly after our guest arrived, appetizers were served, alcohol began to flow and discussions became lively.
Eventually the conversation turned to politics, and we had a healthy chat about the current state of affairs. We covered the most pressing current events, conversed about the field of Democratic presidential contenders, then segued onto the dismal subject of Trump. “Well, at least we have a remedy for that,” our friend said raising her glass.
“Yep, pot and alcohol are wholly responsible for getting me through the past three years,” I responded.
I felt as though I said something crass or illicit. “Yeah, do you smoke?”
My friend looked at her wine glass, shook her head and took a sip. I felt the vibe in the room shift a bit…nothing bad, per se, but there was a distinct shift nonetheless.
I slid into minor defense mode, and stood up for my weed. I explained how marijuana cures any and all of my quadriplegic-related ailments, and I would be sick and miserable without it. My mom chimed in by saying she’s been smoking it for nearly 50 years, and has no plans of ever stopping. Our friend said she smoked once in college, but became paranoid, and never tried it again. She then began discussing her recent positive experience with CBD oil, and our conversation returned to its original vibe. No awkwardness lingered, but I decided it would be best to hold off on smoking until she left.
However, as the night stretched on, I desperately wanted to puff some pot. It relaxes my stomach, enhances the taste of my food and vodka, and makes the entire atmosphere more jovial. Nonetheless, I ignored my desires in an effort to secure my new friend’s comfort level.
When the evening came to a close, I was tipsy and cheerful. We divvied up the leftovers, made plans to get together again soon, and I was charmed to have found a new, interesting chick with whom I enjoy spending time. And as soon as the door closed behind her, I made a mad dash to my pot box.
After two hits, my mind and body achieved the state of relaxation I’d been longing for. I reclined in my chair, and thought to myself, I shall never hold out on this feeling again.
Marijuana is one of my essential life ingredients. In addition to the medicinal purposes, it lifts my spirits, aids in problem-solving and inspires my creativity. Eliminating it from an evening of food, drink, music and conversation is asinine. And it’s ludicrous to me that pot can still be taboo—particularly when alcohol is present.
Pot is my daily antidote for mental and physical duress—no other drug can harmlessly provide such relief. And so, I hereby refuse to deny myself its luxuries or make excuses for partaking. After all, come Jan. 1, even the law can’t hold me back.