Monday, January 11, 2010


Have you ever read Notes from the Underground? It's a mix between American Psycho and Kakfa-esque works (aren't I a horrible, terrible person for just listing that? such a nerd. I deserve to be duct-taped and stuffed in a locker [please don't do that to me]) -- an isolated character leaning towards insanity lashes out at and suffers from cold, cruel society. It's an existential work. And in it contains plenty of loner-status self-reflection and ramblings about the character's day-to-day self affairs.

My friends know how annoying I am when I keep goin' and goin' about existential bullshit...God I am such the goth chick at a high school dance, whatever the fuck that means.* So the fragile, emo, literary major nerd inside of me (who wears an eyeshadow called "PURGATORY") really likes this story.

And so I present to you: Notes from a Higher Ground :-)

It'll be fun!

At first, I had planned on extensively writing on the subject of marijuana in my life the past week, but that itself is rather extensive (although still entertaining, nonetheless). So instead I will just explain with what happened today:

I woke up after a smoking the night before. It was late, 1:30 pm. I still felt exhausted, even after getting all that sleep so I thought, maybe I'll just sleep a little longer.

I wake up and it's 4:40 pm, and I'm like fuck my life. I get up and mill around the house quietly and soul-lessly (I was a fucking zombie). I am definitely high hungover. My mother says to me sarcastically, "You're up so early! It's only 5 pm!" in Chinese. Very funny, Mom. I go to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror for god knows how long, maybe centuries.

I notice that the house is quiet.

I notice that my mother and brother are downstairs. I don't think that's a good thing. I can only think of my bong and all my weed stashed together in the downstairs closet in the laundry room. I proceed downstairs, and in shock, discover my mother and brother in front of the open closet door, staring at MY BONG and MY WEED.

... Just what do you do in that situation? Give as much bullshit as you can give, I guess, "Oops that's mine! I mean it's not mine...I mean someone left it here by accent...They...forgot it."

My brother opens the ziplock bag with my weed it, and smells it. He gingerly closes the bag and hurries away (that was a big wtf).

My mother demands to know what it is, and why the house smelled like that (FYI the house smelled like Pacific Breeze mango coconut incense, not weed).

"[in Chinese] What's that?" She points to the bag of weed.

"It''s like incense. It smells good. That's why it smells so good in here," I stay stupidly.


"'s just like incense! That's why it smells so nice and fruity in here. Doesn't it smell good??"



"No, you just light it-"

"WHAT'S THAT?" She points to my beautiful bong.

"It's for lighting it! It's for what you light it on, like incense."


"Yeah, yeah! It's like hookah!"

"I thought I told you there's no hookah in this house! No smoking in this house! Don't ever do it again!"

"Oh okay, I won't do it again."

"No hookah!!"

"Oh okay, but doesn't it smell good??"

She walks away and I stood there, shaking my head in shame and half-laughing. Look what I have become with drugs, I thought, and laughed at my own joke.

Man, that experience sucked. I definitely need to be more careful in the future.

Till next time! :-D

*I want to apologize for the general senselessness of this post. Truth is, I am currently high off my mind.

1 comment:

  1. oh mah gawrd that story made me laugh and feel uneasy at the same time as I read to determine your fate! HAHAHAH close one!