I Didn’t Care About Anything.
My plan was brilliant: I would give up alcohol and just smoke pot. Alcohol was my problem. This had been confirmed by God Himself. The plan was to never drink again.
But I needed something to help me mentally escape from the horrors of the life I was living.
With solidarity Larry declared, “I’m not gonna drink beer either.” And Larry, the non-alcoholic, quit drinking alcohol without hesitation.
One night, we had a pizza and Larry said, “This is the only fuckin’ time I miss beer. I like beer with my pizza.” But he didn’t drink one.
He made sure to always have marijuana on hand – which was not easy, since it was illegal.
I hated the way pot made me feel. I felt stupid. My life screeched to a halt whenever I smoked it. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t drive. I could barely speak. I was just a lump, sitting, being high.
Without alcohol, I swore I would be a better person. I never, ever got into arguments – let alone fist fights – when I was high. I never got into any trouble, never had sex with the wrong person, never even vomited. And think of the money I would save! I could remember stuff when I wasn’t drinking, although smoking pot guaranteed that there was never much to remember.
I was too high to feel any passion.
Otherwise, my life returned immediately to what it was before Europe: I smoked cigarettes incessantly. On weekends I went to the bars and drank Diet Coke, stepping outside every hour or so to smoke a joint. I went to work three nights a week, and got high with my friends at lunchtime. When work was over, I got high again, then passed out on the floor. I didn’t bother listening to music and wailing along with the boom box. I was too stoned to care.
This went on for weeks.
On Valentine’s Day, Larry informed me that he was going out with another girl – someone named Apryl (“with a ‘Y'”). I asked him if he was going to have sex with her. Larry said, “Nah, I just told her I’d take her out on Valentine’s Day.”
I couldn’t have cared any less if Larry had said he was going to screw a donkey. Or make a sandwich.
Thanks to pot, I didn’t care about anything.
Still, when Larry didn’t come home after the bars closed, I freaked out a little. High and bored, I went to bed, then stayed wide awake. Waiting. I didn’t care about the girl. I just wanted to feel safe.
Finally, Larry stomped up the stairs. I rolled over without a word and went right to sleep.
