i'm only trying to get home, drunk drivers, drunk drivers2022-04-02 egg
My first time microdosing shrooms and actually feeling something... Juhi would be so disappointed ("shrooms are not for partying"). Part of me wants to ride out the rest of the trip and see what dumb (maybe brilliant?) shit my brain comes up with, part of me thinks I should go to bed so I can run errands tomorrow and re-enter society as a functional being. When I got home today and saw my bed stripped of its sheets (at the laundromat, my other sheet sets in the bin underneath my bed) I thought again of how irresponsible/bad at life I am right now. I remember in the fall I was so excited at all the connections that were sprouting and blooming--the term "fallow period" would come to mind--and whenever I was reflecting on this I would try to self-correct, tell myself to not get too happy and carried away because the other shoe was going to drop and maybe I would get sick of someone I had become close with or maybe some terrible dynamic would arise between myself and a friend that would make continuing our friendship impossible. I feel like I'm in a different although related stage of this now... I wouldn't call it a fallow period, but I'm having a lot of fun and indulging myself in being childish and melodramatic. I've been giving a lot to my social life and spending time with my friends, activities cycling into each other until I come home to a dark apartment. But my brain also feels rotten somehow, I'm scared as always of getting dumber and I think it really could be happening this time... There are no groceries despite being back since Tuesday, compost is taking up space in the freezer, and my dead plants are glaring at me in the living room. The plant I've had since I moved into this apartment exhaled its last breath sometime when I was away, maybe I'm mad at my roommate for not keeping it alive although I guess I never asked her to water it. When I was at Public Records earlier tonight I wondered what my mom would think if she could see me at this very moment. She would probably be happy that I was being young and having fun but concerned about the decibel levels and the drugs. She would be pretty sad to witness me right now, the only correction I've made to my bed since coming home is that now there are pillowcases, the only thing I decided I had energy for. Getting a fitted sheet on the bed is already tiresome enough when sober. Whenever I do any laundry-/linen-related chores such as making my bed or folding clothes I think of my mom and how clumsy I am at the skills she was never taught yet accrued out of necessity, maybe common sense and an inherent adeptness at handling hardship that I--spoiled, American-born, millennial/Gen-Z, sheltered--lack. I feel ashamed at my domestic inadequacy; I can't do anything well in the home except cook. I can't even fold tops correctly (I know how, but it never looks good when I do it, so I fold them differently). I'll make a life partner very disappointed one day.