Hail to Thee, Blythe Spirit! Or: Reefer Madness

I hadn't been smoking pot for a couple of months, because my guru tells me that the occasional fast or the temporary abstention is good for general practices of mindfulness, and I'm inclined to agree based on experience. But last night I ended by own personal Lent, figuring that I ought to get back on board before the holiday, lest I sputter and cough like an amateur, and I got totally fuckin blazed.

What did I do? I read some poetry. I roasted a chicken on a bed of radicchio for dinner. I drank a couple of glasses of white Bergerac. I ate some granola for desert. Then I ate some ice cream for more desert. Then I ate the rest of the ice cream. Then I walked up the street to the convenience store, bought some microwave popcorn, walked home, got even more ripped out of my brain, ate popcorn, drank tea, and watched some scifi movies.

Deep, deep into the mind of a criminal . . .