I also wanted to describe the feeling of starting old habits. I have a very tame experience of addiction, involving the slippery combination of weed and tobacco. It was very surreal to visit with my English cousin in Bristol and see him chainsmoke spliffs, and do the same when he visited me in Portland. When I asked him about his weed smoking he said, “buy a bag of grass and smoke it til it’s gone.” I love getting stoned and writing or playing music, or really doing anything with creativity involved. I’ve always wanted to structure my life around it. However, when I bag of weed and am smoking tobacco, I’ll first have a productive euphoric series of getting stoned and then making something, and then building a tolerance and suddenly smoking a spliff every 90 minutes and becoming too hazy to accomplish anything, get depressed and see production level off entirely.

Perhaps, after quitting smoking for the better part of a year, I can recognize when I want a cigarette for cigarette’s sake, ignore it, and make this sustainable. Essential perhaps now I can be a grown up about it.

When I was coming back from the WinCo I was thinking about when I played music. It became clear to me that I was never good at writing and performing songs that would move people. I wrote songs for and performed a persona that I thought would move people. It sounds ludicrous to pretend, in hindsight, like I was doing a Stanislov embodiment of a character, and that I thought people would get it. At best, I had faith that what I was doing mattered, and that who I was in that moment was creating something that mattered, something that everybody would eventually get. On someone level I knew it was for my benefit, for me to eventually get who I was, and that I needed myself to fulfill these absurd pursuits, so I could know how it felt to be me doing that.

I am at that point of optimism–I just starting smoking cigarettes again, I just bought an 1/8 of weed, and I’m again posting to my wordpress about how it feels to be me smoking different strands of weed. This time I will make a habit of this. I will trick myself into a project that allows me to explore the vast world that is myself, using the delusion that doing so allows me convey something worth sharing that might describe what it feels like to be someone else.

The problem occurs to me that, as I have set it up, all of these supposed essays will be about Coffee Cinex. I would love to get this project supported through the donations of weed geocached in Southeast Portland but I have no idea how to initiate the actualization of such a fantasy.

I’ve described the ambition to journal full-time through the off season of my current profession. Retrieving weed in hidden locations in the city, smoking and writing about it sounds like a pretty ideal method, but, til summer’s over, I gotta go to work in the morning.