Another time, in my early twenties, when I was dating a habitual pot smoker, I ACCIDENTALLY smoked some more pot & whilst sitting in his lounge listening to my heart thump it's way out of my chest, had a mini freak out because when I looked at my legs they seemed to be melting into his carpet. So I got up, opened a cupboard in his hallway, found an old bright yellow rain coat, put it on, then went & got in his bed where I huddled in the fetal position under the blankets with my fingers in my ears. He found me there 4 hours later asleep in the yellow rain coat. The thunderous beating of my own marijuana juiced up heart drove me loco.
Right on skanky ganja hoe. You suck.
In summary, I don't do drugs because I'm already freaky as fuck enough without it. Plus I have a terrible history of getting addicted to stuff. Drugs is one thing I don't want to be addicted to.
So we've been doing renovations at my work. Jibbing (hehe), painting, sanding & shit. Well I haven't actually been doing it. The men folk have.
Anyway yesterday morning, after channeling my inner house bitch, I decided to have a bit of a vacuum. Upon locating the vacuum cleaner, I found it covered in white jib dust. I dragged it into my office, gave it a wipe down & turned it on.
It was at this time that the vacuum cleaner decided to explode a bevy of white powder in to my face. While I lurched about my office like a feral tom cat stuck inside an old potato sack, choked & blinded by the fine white dust, a customer came in to my office to order a cab. He laughed at me then he started to cough & lurch because he too had ingested some of the dust. It was a bad time. The entire taxi office was filled with a white dust cloud. No amount of arm trashing could get rid of it, but jesus did I try. I thrashed like a coked up raver at a drum & bass party. The shit was EVERYWHERE.
Not me. But I was just as angry.
After I'd got myself together & cleaned up what I could while my nose was leaking white snot & my eyeballs felt like someone had replaced the thin layer of membrane with lava hot sandpaper, I discovered that whoever had last used the vacuum cleaner had filled it to the point that the bag split. Nice work motherfucker.
For the rest of the day every time I blew my nose, white powder came out. I basically rubbed my eyes right out of my skull & my lungs felt like they were filled with stodgy baked goods. My once black non Nana cardigan was grey, my black chucks were grey, my blond hair was grey, every thing was grey. I looked like an extra in a black & white cocaine movie.
The masses laughed & kept asking me what the fuck happened to my face. So I emptied the remaining contents of the vacuum cleaner bag into a container & every time someone laughed at the state of me, I *slung a spoonful of jib dust in their face & laughed like the those smirky asshole pigs from the Angry Bird game (I hate them so hard). I wanted them to know how I felt on the outside & the inside.
*I never actually did that. But I wish I had of thought of it. I was too slow.
Tuesday has gone remarkably well. No white powder explosions & I had the opportunity to yell at the douche hat that over filled the poor vacuum cleaner. The angry power I got from growling at a grown man much older than I almost made me piss my pants with excitement.
Peace & white dusty love,
P.S Drugs are shit. Paris (my 12 year old niece) if you read this, don't ever do drugs. Throwing your expensive shoes in the ocean because you think your feet are on fire is NOT good time. It's really really shit time. And your mum would be piss mad.