Before even smoking out of my bong, I placed it on my lamp/table thing, next to my coffee cup. Such curiously looking things the two were. I admired them both.

"Good bong. Pretty bong." I said it with such sincerity and with a voice of the sentimental. Like someone talking to their pet cat. It was then that I noticed that my coffee cup had on it the decoration of two cats sitting on a bench, holding a batch of flowers. Cats! I was amused, I was sold.

Onto the smoking part.

Grape God was my sticky icky of choice. (Hoping it will give me some homeworking-doing power, still hoping) A pretty gnarly hybrid strain.

For whatever reason, a voice kept whimpering in the back of me head. Or should I say, "A little birdy told me..."? Well, a little birdy told me, Don't take a lot of hits. You don't really need it. Just take 2-3 and take more later.

Wasn't it just yesterday after the Super Bowl (and we were superbowling, best believe) that I had said that I always telling myself same thing, and how I fail at listening to myself?

And so it was, I took hella more hits than I had planned to. After each hit, I asked myself, do you really need to smoke more? Like, really? Yeah, I do need to smoke more, May, ya whore. (I smoke more.) Oh my god! How many hits was that already? You're already super high! How can you doubt your highness? There is no need to smoke any more cause you're already high!

Rational, annoying, plain jane May was like trippin' out!!!! So I said to her out loud, "Dude...you are TRIIIIIPPPIN!" And then, "Oh my god, I am trippin'," on accordance of me talking out loud to myself as if there was another 'myself' here.

I put my bong down, giggling in my mind.

Wait! Was I really giggling in my mind? Or was that real laughter? I focused in on my surroundings and heard a woman's laugh. Unmistakable female laughter, and not from me. My eyes widening, I heard another woman laughing as well.

"What the fuck," I said out loud. Immediately I remembered discussing hallucinations with a friend the other night.

But no. This was real laughter. I was enthralled and shocked at the idea of coincidence, that it was almost as if they could read my mind and start laughing at my thoughts.

But then I was like, NAH dude, it's just da fucking neighbors and they're in their backyards laughing at something. Big fucking deal.

And so it was, just the fucking neighbors.

If that's not a good indicator of how high I am right now, then I don't know what is.

...I am high off my flippin' mind.

A wink, a smile, some comforting words

May,

This is an extraordinary essay, beautifully written, powerfully argued, at once lucid, nuanced and passionate. You have beautifully used Schweithart's essay to open up both Pizan's and Sand's texts and have exceeded my expectations. Congratulations - what a powerful writer - what an amazing reader of texts you are. It was such a pleasure to read this paper.

Let me amuse myself and pretend that there is a God. For fifteen minutes, my heart had floated. It was if He had known (I struggle not to put He in quotations) of my flailing confidence, in myself, in my future. All my doubts as a "writer", a literature student. And to then be affirmed by an established intellectual. To be proud. To keep dreaming.

In my last post, I had mentioned that I had written something depressing. It was precisely this subject matter that I had written on; the thoughts ravaging my mind, all my capabilities, but more so, my incapabilities. A future of grey skies and routine. (The lyrics to Fitter, Happier sum it up quite well, as does another poem that is off the tip of my tongue, but I can't seem to remember the author or title, and it is driving me a bit bonkers.)

A confidence boost, indeed.

I spent the rest of the evening watching Animal Planet, reading, and taking breaks to discuss my cats. Typical me. A telephone conversation with Rachael (Hello). And now, bed.

There are good days,

There are bad days.

To come anew and chronicle my day

Goal: to write about something else other than weed...

I woke up much more tired than usual. While I regularly put my body through sleep-deprivation hell, the previous night of sleeping at 4 am and waking repeatedly throughout the night till 8 am really got to me. My lovely cats, hard to be angry at them for being the naturally boisterous and loud creatures that they are. It has become apparent the past few weeks that if I am to smoke to sleep, I do need to go for more sleep-friendly strains...

Who can recant a day's memories and make them seem interesting, beautiful even? Not me, for another day is just another day of boredom. A dull day.

Between class, I worked on an essay (yawn). My creative juices began to flow (this tends to happen when I'm tired) and I ended up writing a somewhat depressing piece, which I'll post some other time. It could be a little better, not that I'm willing to spend a lot more time on it. The utter pointlessness. Then more class. Then another. Yawn. My mother calls me to yell at me, and I feel terrible. But, yawn. I study at the bookstore and let my eyes travel upon new titles. I touch them, beautiful, lovely books.

But I am tired, you bore me.

Then darkness settled in. Darkness like curtains being drawn on a sunny day, and all you'd like to do is go out and play. But no. A refusal from some outside force, it might seem, or perhaps it is my natural inclination for this darkness. All at once, I felt -- alone, stupid, small, insignificant, crazy. Darkness, in the sheer darkness of past sunset, in Davis, CA, I felt I blended in with the shadows better than the color black. The chill in my bones. Ash and soot. In the worst mood possible. A leave-me-alone mood.

And I walked home and I tried to let it past. Thought of remedies and things that would make me feel better without lashing out on others. But it would not past, not for a while. I had some food and felt better, then smoked, and felt a whole lot better. Six hours and two bowls later, yeah, I feel a whole lot better.

I'm confused...confused as to why I feel this way, so frequently that it's almost every day. It often comes in moments, can last hours, can drag on through the whole day, draining my energy, my totality and vigor for life. I've been trying to be more forgiving to myself, but with some hard thought, I don't think it's normal to be as emotionally unstable as I have been feeling lately. Very fragile. It comes and goes. I'm functional. But 'depression' should not be a function of myself.

There is more I could say, but my brain aches and 3am has found its way to me. Incense lit, and cocooned till tomorrow. Another day to be tired. I hope for the best, tired person.

A dialogue with cats

There I was again, smoking out of my bong, blowing the smoke towards the rain that pounded hard on the window with the wind's menacing hand. Alone, but in the company of three cats, all staring at me, six little eyes, round and round (and round).

What, kitties, gonna call the police?

I looked at Juno, her green eyes twinkling and with that unimpressed face. She was taunting me.

"Juno, I'm pretty sure I'm done but I'm not gonna put my bong away just yet because what if I want more later?"

She says nothing.

"I'm just talking to you guys...like a crazy person...because I'm really high." I stare at them, mouth half open. They stare back. I stare at them for some time.

"Yeah...I am doneeee. But it just doesn't feel right to put it away yet. What if I'm not done...like later?" I ask Juno.

She stares at me blankly.

"Cause it's like...the ritual isn't done yet, you know? It feels to early to finish. Anyway, I'm just gonna put it down like this." I put the bong down on the table. Pretty bong. Good bong.

Yup, three cats over here. I must say it's been fabulous. Fabulous! I do love my munchkins. The actual Oliver and Tigerlily are here, original inspiration for my blog title! :-)

Speaking of this blog, it's quite pathetic that January is almost over and I only have three posts here. I was actually talking to some random dude at the gym today who saw that I was reading Valvedre by George Sands and he started asking me if I was a writer, and what I write, and I told him that I have a stupid blog to practice writing more as a New Year's resolution. I didn't actually say it was stupid.

That prompted me to update this.