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My Nutty Friend Meg
NonFiction
 Created on 3-28-08
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 Story Rating G
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This is a diary of my experience with Nutmeg. Although I wouldn't call it an experience, as the nutmeg was 25+ years old - This is atleast a diary of what I have been doing in the past two days. Which I honestly feel like I would have forgotten. Every day seems to be that way. Like it never happened. I need to be constantly reminded what I did, what I said, where I'd been and how many words I'd written..Probably the most plain, simple, and obvious thing I've ever written - which disgusts me, kind've.
Last night (Thursday, March 27th) I was bored, sitting at the computer typing to one of my friends when out of nowhere it hit me: "I wonder what's in the house." I, being one of the folk who prioritizes themselves on household items for a high (though cheap or crappy, depending on the person) that I couldn't buy a bottle of 300mg DXM with on the count of the last experience I had taking 836mg and felt like I was about to die, the universe colliding on my head as God was laughing at me. That was intense and I made plans to buy three 300mg bottles (900MG) and reach third-fourth plateau when my mindset was ready. I'd
been preparing for months and what happens happens.
"Later," I told myself in a breath - it's always later in the future, this - that - simple terms for people who'd rather not think than to use their brains for one thing. I'd rather fool myself into expanding my mind with the world of mind-enhancing hallucinogens in the world and achieve a higher understanding of what we'll call "life" and how to make sense of it. The "secrets" no one wants to talk about and secretly scoff at anyone who does.
Now - What do I have in this here house that could give me a good high for couple hours as a substitute of what I've grown accustomed to? I'm a novice when it comes to drug experimentations and a complete newbie to the harsh more mind-altering drugs (LSD, Ketamine, Kava Kava, Speed, etc.) and hadn't known what had gotten you high other than nutmeg, nail polishing remover, and gasoline/turpentine/oil. Gasoline didn't work and last year I had been a regular huffer (once or twice a week) off and on before I just dropped it since I felt nothing afterwards, though I did always enjoy the scent of gasoline as a child.
Nutmeg it was, nutmeg nutmeg nutmeg, I didn't know if we had any nutmeg in the house - surely enough we did, 36g of it in a small-orange box and 3/4 of it was left, dated 1981. "What the hell" I thought and grabbed a tablespoon and poured the nutmeg into the spoon, thinking nothing of it. Reports I've read on the internet said it tastes nasty and is hard to swallow, from my taste buds it just felt like saw-chips were in my mouth but no particular taste - I drank a glass of milk anyway. Since it had lain around for a good 25+ years I decided to ingest another tablespoon of the stuff.
Now all I had to do was wait 7+ hours (well into 3:00AM+) for the effects to hit me and I'd be riding a high I've never ridden before. "No problem. I can write while the effects slowly linger on my mind." Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to sit infront of a computer trying to type what you didn't feel like typing several hours ago? Being a hermit is such a fantastic ride and not having any smokes made the situation as gay as the rainbows and unicorns. Let's see. Listen to "The White Rabbit" waiting for the high whilst talking with a friend about something I can't remember, and basically just being the bored, lonely Libra I am: I thought about writing - not actually writing, but thinking about writing, getting that novel done. Being famous. All that glorious Jack Kerouac jazz.
(And if you're an avid reader of my work: You'd know the words I'm using are FAR more simple and basic than what I normally write. I don't care. Part of me wishes I was normal so I could be understood and the other part of me pisses on the normal freaks who use the same exact fucking language as everyone else to describe the exact same thing.)
The midnight hour struck and I still felt nothing aside from a pleasant feeling that I wouldn't know would last me well until the next day (the day I'm writing this) and the few days after that.
"Maybe if I ingest more, y'know, for fun" and down went another tbsp of nutmeg (by this time the container was down to 2/4 of nutmeg left) and went on the night listening to White Rabbit, thinking of writing, anticipating the day I'll write, lusting with the feeling of creating the perfect novel but NO! DAMN GOD ALL HELL FUCKING NO the words would not come out. That feeling of hopelessness, exhaustion, and throwing everything away usually sets in when you've spent the last two weeks working on THE perfect novel of your entire goddamn year, TWO weeks of your thoughts, minds, emotions, feelings, and greatest exploration of yourself and your natural talent --- deleted in an instant. An instant. All those words gone, and I didn't know what to do. The sane person would start again. I'm not sane, and I'm not a person, and I'm a lazy ass Libra.
By that time it was one'o clock in the morning and I masturbated to a friend on her MSN webcam for a few minutes - anything to get my mind off the fact that I may have just ingested a lethal amount of nutmeg on my first attempt - it wasn't potent and had been sitting for 25+ years, what idiotic mistake had I made? "Easy, Jake" I told myself - "Calm yourself and think of freedom." Thinking about a bad trip makes the trip worse, as any tripper knows - and I closed my eyes and started feeling warm, becoming one with the Doors CD playing on the television. This lasted until about 5AM when I decided to get off the internet and goto bed. I went to sleep on my mattress and laying down was one of the most pleasant experiences I've ever had, sober or otherwise. I figured
this type of nutmeg was like dramamine, when you're on it you don't feel like you're high until you start seeing spides crawl along the walls. Cheap high. Last year I bought a 100-pill bottle of Dramamine and ingested it (plus 24 extra from separate tubes) within three days. I suppose that's why I can't emember what exactly happened during those times, and is why I'm writing this now so I don't forget in the future.
Going to bed with open eyes that you know are open yet your brain feels like your eyes are closed is one of the most pleasant feelings you could ever have. For the first time in weeks I was smiling, calm, relaxed, and felt good about myself - I guess the nutmeg had kicked in afterall - I just had to wait 8+ Buddamn hours for it to do so! What a thrill! What nirvana! What pure joy! Snuggled into the blankets and felt like a little child again, safely tucked into a mattress and sheets with a sense of security, opening my eyes and looking out the window to the dark, cloud-matted skies above - that's what I love about sleeping under a window. Feel that greatness? Feel that comfort? Feel that relaxation? With closed eyes, the universe melted and I was a comfortable heap of
laundry fresh out of the dryer. I don't remember falling asleep, infact I think I didn't fall asleep and just laid their in the darkness with my eyes closed - half between the conscious and unconscious realm of mind-states.
What I failed to mention is that from the ingestion of the first tablespoon and 5AM: I had drunken half a bottle of listerine, ingested 4 Nyquil NightTime gelcaps, a muscle relaxer, and a 5-tsp of coffee+4-tsp of sugar'd instant coffee.
This alternate reality of closed eyes, lucid dreaming, perhaps? I'm not sure of the feeling: A feeling like you're in a dream though you know you're wide awake with eyes closed. The sun was now rising and, even with closed eyes, I was able to see the purple tint of the sky just before it mixes into swirls of orange and red for the morning - and what a morning it was: Five hours later (around tenPM) I opened my eyes, still fully awake, and headed down stairs to brew another batch of coffee, take a piss, go outside for a smoke - and the nutmeg effect was still a pleasantly resonating on my senses. The sun was warmer in the warm air, the air more breathable, it was easier to smile and the cigarette added a nice buzz.
Between then and 3PM was nothing but pointless conversations on this website called Testriffc, however at 3PM I decided to ingest another tbsp of nutmeg - while still intoxicated from the small doses I ingested the night before (there's a warning that the effects last for several days, and at the current time of writing this (March 28, Friday, 3:31AM) is still in effect on my senses).
I had begun to write the beginnings of my novel in it's entirety form - and not the rough cards for placing which scene where and all that boring trite. The clock struck around 8PM and the nutmeg from five hours ago was adding to the pleasant feeling, so I went on AIM and conversed with a few friends. Now here's the advantage to being a (purposely) weird person: When you're weird, you're weird and people may or may not accept it (I have friends who don't, even after they know who I am and they still give me weird looks. Wanna punch them). But THANKFULLY, when you're high on drugs or something else (booze), your random ramblings will look like just another day in the mind of the weird folk and they'll think nothing of it - until some stranger who doesn't know you asks if
you're high. Lieing to their faces. Why should I be honest and see the disappointed look in their faces? I'm dissappointed with half the people in my age group for being depressed for absolutely nothing. I take drugs to expand my mind. Get over it.
The clock struck 9PM and I decided to ingest another tablespoon, making 5 1/4 tablespoons in all. Great! I thought. Going out in the night, taking a walk in the dark cloud-matted wings of the universe, wishing I had a hand to hold, smoking a cigarette and getting lost in the Doors with a pleasant feeling. It didn't feel like DXM or my previous experiences with weed, not disillusionment, paranoia, bad feelings, "weird perceptions" and no hallucinations - but hat's all partly due to the aged 25+ year old nutmeg, though it was still potent enough to get me buzzed and keep me buzzed well into the late hours when I walked home.
The late hours began when I went on AIM and talked to a girl who was having troubles in her house, and though I was fully aware of what I was saying - Had managed to piss her off which left me with a crappy feeling, as she was already feeling crappy before we conversed, and this was the first time we sat down together and talked in atleast 2 months. Before signing on AIM, I signed on MSN and read a third-person narrative about a girl who made love and was fingered by a boy she liked (nonfiction) and when I read this, it added to the sadness - because I secretly had a crush on her and that jealous feeling wells up in your stomach. "Nothing to do but shrug it off, pal." Shrugging it off was my forte when it came to needlessly, hopelessly, aimlessly and uselessly gaining attraction for people on the internet you wouldn't ever meet - least of all 15-18 year old teenagers who are busy with their own lives and couldn't take a 18 year old aspiring published novelist into their home even if they wanted to.
When you're a people-orientated Libra, you strive for human interaction - in the real world or on the internet. It works both ways, and when you don't have anyone (you like) to talk to, the Libra gets sad and its balance is offset, offkey, and you tumble downwards and downwards. As the hours dwindled and 1AM dawned near, my last ex-lover (and whom I thought was my soul mate) had IM'd me and asked me to read her story. We chatted some, had a couple laughs, she told me how she had embraced her fears and was taking a hold of them - which was the world to me. Even though I don't love her anymore..I don't think you ever honestly recover with what you've given of yourself to the person you thought was your soul mate...Which is why half of the world lays depressed and suicidal over break-ups, moving on! Wrote a few sentences down in the first draft of my novel. I don't know how I had gotten over 12k+ words in two
weeks with the first version, because this one is even more difficult. It just doesn't have the spice. Day by day and tomorrah is another day, aye?
Alone, lonely, and sad; I logged off the computer and read "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" by Hunter S. Thompson (I guess that's why I tried utmeg+Listerine+Muscle relaxers+Coffee+Cigarettes+Nail polish remover at once) until about 3:51AM, when I was thinking, "Don't take another tablespoon. It'll make you feel worse. You'll feel more worse than you are now. You know how this works. Unless you can change your moods, you won't feel any better. This isn't the cure."
"Shut up and take the goddamn tablespoon" said the other voice on my shoulder, and I did. I didn't care how old who was or how many tbsp I took (6 and 1/4) or if I was going to feel worse or better or just pass out right there from the extra shot of 25+ year old nutmeg and the 5+ tsp's of coffee and 6+ tsp's of sugar (which is not fun when you add extra milk by accident and have to pour half of it out to make way for the water) - and by this time I had been up for a total of 18+ hours with only five hours of sleep under my belt. Nothing compared to the insane insomniac's. Doesn't matter. I'm not going to sleep. Not with this rush of caffiene running through my bones. Not tonight. No sleep. Who needs sleep? Sleep is for the weak. The bored. The tired. The people with something to do at some shitty thing they don't even enjoy doing. What kind of life is that? And anybody who doesn't want to be sucked in with
everybody else is seen as "wasting their life" and being a "loser" for choosing not to follow everyone else in their schools they hate, jobs they hate, and doing everything they fucking HATE and not doing a goddamn thing to change it.
Where was I? I was in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the past two days I have felt like I wasn't a part of this world - not literally, but the way the world was perceived was as if it were an honest dream. A dream that I was awake in. Sometimes I'm curious to see what the effect my suicide would have on people. What it'd be like to not be a part of this world anymore. But I have a book to read. I have my virginity to lose. I have my car to drive drunk in. I have my heart's to break. I have my drugs to take. I have my life to fuck up, and I have my poetry to write, so I may be regarded as the best Buddamn 18 year old writer/poet of the 21st century. That's my dream. My goal. Being free from friends, from fear of myself, from fear of others, free from not being able to trust anyone, and I mean ANYONE - Yes, I am partially lieing when I say "I trust you."
A whole lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. I may die soon. We all may die soon. That's not depressing. That's reality. I had this friend, we'll call her "Melody", she accused me of living in a fantasy world (a lot of people do) for wanting to hitchhike across the state into New Jersey to meet my soul-mate (at the time), and up until a month ago she had accused me, and accused me relentlessly about using my life to my "full potential", using my talents to their greatest length, and all that jargon - when she had no idea what I was doing with myself. She never asked, and when I showed her my writing of what I WAS doing, she shrugged it off and saw it as nothing. She was too busy worrying and stressing over which university to apply for. More education. Education is just having the ability to memorize the text they give you in endless amounts of books. "Legitatmately intelligent" a good friend from Testriffic and I had said. That's all it amounted to. While I was being accused of living in a fantasy world, most of my friends were sad, hopeless, depressing and melodramatic
individuals whom I didn't care for - they certainly didn't show any enthusiasm for talking with my weird-ass, so I cut off personal ties with them..But while I was being accused of living in a fantasy world, I was discovering death. Life. Birth. Death DEATH DEATH. THE END OF YOUR EXISTENCE. How could you call that fantasy? I coped with the knowledge I may not wake up the next day. I may die in my sleep. I may be shot in the road. I may go LEGITAMATELY INSANE and slice my own throat infront of my mother. I may be a victim of hit and run. All these I had coped with and accepted and waited for my time to die - and until that time will come: I will be nothing more than The Minute Snake of the clock that refuses to stop ticking in this cardboard box we call life.
It's 4:20AM (Enter pot joke here) and I'm going to visit a friend's myspace page and let her know how gorgeous she is and how I don't feel like I'm lucky enough to have her as a friend/contact, because seriously - she is out of my league. Outer-wise and inner-wise. (Ex-lovers have said my personality is beautiful. It's not. I just show everyone the part of Jake that's socially acceptable. I'm too tired to show the real me to anyone, even myself)
Aside from the short mild sadness, the nutmeg experience was a good one - Had it been freshly grounded nutmeg straight out of the store: I would have been tripping and scared off my ass, facing death. This I'm sure of. All I'm worried about is saving up 25+ dollars for three 300mg bottles of DXM.
I need more cofee.
End at 4:27AM
Last night (Thursday, March 27th) I was bored, sitting at the computer typing to one of my friends when out of nowhere it hit me: "I wonder what's in the house." I, being one of the folk who prioritizes themselves on household items for a high (though cheap or crappy, depending on the person) that I couldn't buy a bottle of 300mg DXM with on the count of the last experience I had taking 836mg and felt like I was about to die, the universe colliding on my head as God was laughing at me. That was intense and I made plans to buy three 300mg bottles (900MG) and reach third-fourth plateau when my mindset was ready. I'd
been preparing for months and what happens happens.
"Later," I told myself in a breath - it's always later in the future, this - that - simple terms for people who'd rather not think than to use their brains for one thing. I'd rather fool myself into expanding my mind with the world of mind-enhancing hallucinogens in the world and achieve a higher understanding of what we'll call "life" and how to make sense of it. The "secrets" no one wants to talk about and secretly scoff at anyone who does.
Now - What do I have in this here house that could give me a good high for couple hours as a substitute of what I've grown accustomed to? I'm a novice when it comes to drug experimentations and a complete newbie to the harsh more mind-altering drugs (LSD, Ketamine, Kava Kava, Speed, etc.) and hadn't known what had gotten you high other than nutmeg, nail polishing remover, and gasoline/turpentine/oil. Gasoline didn't work and last year I had been a regular huffer (once or twice a week) off and on before I just dropped it since I felt nothing afterwards, though I did always enjoy the scent of gasoline as a child.
Nutmeg it was, nutmeg nutmeg nutmeg, I didn't know if we had any nutmeg in the house - surely enough we did, 36g of it in a small-orange box and 3/4 of it was left, dated 1981. "What the hell" I thought and grabbed a tablespoon and poured the nutmeg into the spoon, thinking nothing of it. Reports I've read on the internet said it tastes nasty and is hard to swallow, from my taste buds it just felt like saw-chips were in my mouth but no particular taste - I drank a glass of milk anyway. Since it had lain around for a good 25+ years I decided to ingest another tablespoon of the stuff.
Now all I had to do was wait 7+ hours (well into 3:00AM+) for the effects to hit me and I'd be riding a high I've never ridden before. "No problem. I can write while the effects slowly linger on my mind." Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to sit infront of a computer trying to type what you didn't feel like typing several hours ago? Being a hermit is such a fantastic ride and not having any smokes made the situation as gay as the rainbows and unicorns. Let's see. Listen to "The White Rabbit" waiting for the high whilst talking with a friend about something I can't remember, and basically just being the bored, lonely Libra I am: I thought about writing - not actually writing, but thinking about writing, getting that novel done. Being famous. All that glorious Jack Kerouac jazz.
(And if you're an avid reader of my work: You'd know the words I'm using are FAR more simple and basic than what I normally write. I don't care. Part of me wishes I was normal so I could be understood and the other part of me pisses on the normal freaks who use the same exact fucking language as everyone else to describe the exact same thing.)
The midnight hour struck and I still felt nothing aside from a pleasant feeling that I wouldn't know would last me well until the next day (the day I'm writing this) and the few days after that.
"Maybe if I ingest more, y'know, for fun" and down went another tbsp of nutmeg (by this time the container was down to 2/4 of nutmeg left) and went on the night listening to White Rabbit, thinking of writing, anticipating the day I'll write, lusting with the feeling of creating the perfect novel but NO! DAMN GOD ALL HELL FUCKING NO the words would not come out. That feeling of hopelessness, exhaustion, and throwing everything away usually sets in when you've spent the last two weeks working on THE perfect novel of your entire goddamn year, TWO weeks of your thoughts, minds, emotions, feelings, and greatest exploration of yourself and your natural talent --- deleted in an instant. An instant. All those words gone, and I didn't know what to do. The sane person would start again. I'm not sane, and I'm not a person, and I'm a lazy ass Libra.
By that time it was one'o clock in the morning and I masturbated to a friend on her MSN webcam for a few minutes - anything to get my mind off the fact that I may have just ingested a lethal amount of nutmeg on my first attempt - it wasn't potent and had been sitting for 25+ years, what idiotic mistake had I made? "Easy, Jake" I told myself - "Calm yourself and think of freedom." Thinking about a bad trip makes the trip worse, as any tripper knows - and I closed my eyes and started feeling warm, becoming one with the Doors CD playing on the television. This lasted until about 5AM when I decided to get off the internet and goto bed. I went to sleep on my mattress and laying down was one of the most pleasant experiences I've ever had, sober or otherwise. I figured
this type of nutmeg was like dramamine, when you're on it you don't feel like you're high until you start seeing spides crawl along the walls. Cheap high. Last year I bought a 100-pill bottle of Dramamine and ingested it (plus 24 extra from separate tubes) within three days. I suppose that's why I can't emember what exactly happened during those times, and is why I'm writing this now so I don't forget in the future.
Going to bed with open eyes that you know are open yet your brain feels like your eyes are closed is one of the most pleasant feelings you could ever have. For the first time in weeks I was smiling, calm, relaxed, and felt good about myself - I guess the nutmeg had kicked in afterall - I just had to wait 8+ Buddamn hours for it to do so! What a thrill! What nirvana! What pure joy! Snuggled into the blankets and felt like a little child again, safely tucked into a mattress and sheets with a sense of security, opening my eyes and looking out the window to the dark, cloud-matted skies above - that's what I love about sleeping under a window. Feel that greatness? Feel that comfort? Feel that relaxation? With closed eyes, the universe melted and I was a comfortable heap of
laundry fresh out of the dryer. I don't remember falling asleep, infact I think I didn't fall asleep and just laid their in the darkness with my eyes closed - half between the conscious and unconscious realm of mind-states.
What I failed to mention is that from the ingestion of the first tablespoon and 5AM: I had drunken half a bottle of listerine, ingested 4 Nyquil NightTime gelcaps, a muscle relaxer, and a 5-tsp of coffee+4-tsp of sugar'd instant coffee.
This alternate reality of closed eyes, lucid dreaming, perhaps? I'm not sure of the feeling: A feeling like you're in a dream though you know you're wide awake with eyes closed. The sun was now rising and, even with closed eyes, I was able to see the purple tint of the sky just before it mixes into swirls of orange and red for the morning - and what a morning it was: Five hours later (around tenPM) I opened my eyes, still fully awake, and headed down stairs to brew another batch of coffee, take a piss, go outside for a smoke - and the nutmeg effect was still a pleasantly resonating on my senses. The sun was warmer in the warm air, the air more breathable, it was easier to smile and the cigarette added a nice buzz.
Between then and 3PM was nothing but pointless conversations on this website called Testriffc, however at 3PM I decided to ingest another tbsp of nutmeg - while still intoxicated from the small doses I ingested the night before (there's a warning that the effects last for several days, and at the current time of writing this (March 28, Friday, 3:31AM) is still in effect on my senses).
I had begun to write the beginnings of my novel in it's entirety form - and not the rough cards for placing which scene where and all that boring trite. The clock struck around 8PM and the nutmeg from five hours ago was adding to the pleasant feeling, so I went on AIM and conversed with a few friends. Now here's the advantage to being a (purposely) weird person: When you're weird, you're weird and people may or may not accept it (I have friends who don't, even after they know who I am and they still give me weird looks. Wanna punch them). But THANKFULLY, when you're high on drugs or something else (booze), your random ramblings will look like just another day in the mind of the weird folk and they'll think nothing of it - until some stranger who doesn't know you asks if
you're high. Lieing to their faces. Why should I be honest and see the disappointed look in their faces? I'm dissappointed with half the people in my age group for being depressed for absolutely nothing. I take drugs to expand my mind. Get over it.
The clock struck 9PM and I decided to ingest another tablespoon, making 5 1/4 tablespoons in all. Great! I thought. Going out in the night, taking a walk in the dark cloud-matted wings of the universe, wishing I had a hand to hold, smoking a cigarette and getting lost in the Doors with a pleasant feeling. It didn't feel like DXM or my previous experiences with weed, not disillusionment, paranoia, bad feelings, "weird perceptions" and no hallucinations - but hat's all partly due to the aged 25+ year old nutmeg, though it was still potent enough to get me buzzed and keep me buzzed well into the late hours when I walked home.
The late hours began when I went on AIM and talked to a girl who was having troubles in her house, and though I was fully aware of what I was saying - Had managed to piss her off which left me with a crappy feeling, as she was already feeling crappy before we conversed, and this was the first time we sat down together and talked in atleast 2 months. Before signing on AIM, I signed on MSN and read a third-person narrative about a girl who made love and was fingered by a boy she liked (nonfiction) and when I read this, it added to the sadness - because I secretly had a crush on her and that jealous feeling wells up in your stomach. "Nothing to do but shrug it off, pal." Shrugging it off was my forte when it came to needlessly, hopelessly, aimlessly and uselessly gaining attraction for people on the internet you wouldn't ever meet - least of all 15-18 year old teenagers who are busy with their own lives and couldn't take a 18 year old aspiring published novelist into their home even if they wanted to.
When you're a people-orientated Libra, you strive for human interaction - in the real world or on the internet. It works both ways, and when you don't have anyone (you like) to talk to, the Libra gets sad and its balance is offset, offkey, and you tumble downwards and downwards. As the hours dwindled and 1AM dawned near, my last ex-lover (and whom I thought was my soul mate) had IM'd me and asked me to read her story. We chatted some, had a couple laughs, she told me how she had embraced her fears and was taking a hold of them - which was the world to me. Even though I don't love her anymore..I don't think you ever honestly recover with what you've given of yourself to the person you thought was your soul mate...Which is why half of the world lays depressed and suicidal over break-ups, moving on! Wrote a few sentences down in the first draft of my novel. I don't know how I had gotten over 12k+ words in two
weeks with the first version, because this one is even more difficult. It just doesn't have the spice. Day by day and tomorrah is another day, aye?
Alone, lonely, and sad; I logged off the computer and read "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" by Hunter S. Thompson (I guess that's why I tried utmeg+Listerine+Muscle relaxers+Coffee+Cigarettes+Nail polish remover at once) until about 3:51AM, when I was thinking, "Don't take another tablespoon. It'll make you feel worse. You'll feel more worse than you are now. You know how this works. Unless you can change your moods, you won't feel any better. This isn't the cure."
"Shut up and take the goddamn tablespoon" said the other voice on my shoulder, and I did. I didn't care how old who was or how many tbsp I took (6 and 1/4) or if I was going to feel worse or better or just pass out right there from the extra shot of 25+ year old nutmeg and the 5+ tsp's of coffee and 6+ tsp's of sugar (which is not fun when you add extra milk by accident and have to pour half of it out to make way for the water) - and by this time I had been up for a total of 18+ hours with only five hours of sleep under my belt. Nothing compared to the insane insomniac's. Doesn't matter. I'm not going to sleep. Not with this rush of caffiene running through my bones. Not tonight. No sleep. Who needs sleep? Sleep is for the weak. The bored. The tired. The people with something to do at some shitty thing they don't even enjoy doing. What kind of life is that? And anybody who doesn't want to be sucked in with
everybody else is seen as "wasting their life" and being a "loser" for choosing not to follow everyone else in their schools they hate, jobs they hate, and doing everything they fucking HATE and not doing a goddamn thing to change it.
Where was I? I was in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the past two days I have felt like I wasn't a part of this world - not literally, but the way the world was perceived was as if it were an honest dream. A dream that I was awake in. Sometimes I'm curious to see what the effect my suicide would have on people. What it'd be like to not be a part of this world anymore. But I have a book to read. I have my virginity to lose. I have my car to drive drunk in. I have my heart's to break. I have my drugs to take. I have my life to fuck up, and I have my poetry to write, so I may be regarded as the best Buddamn 18 year old writer/poet of the 21st century. That's my dream. My goal. Being free from friends, from fear of myself, from fear of others, free from not being able to trust anyone, and I mean ANYONE - Yes, I am partially lieing when I say "I trust you."
A whole lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. I may die soon. We all may die soon. That's not depressing. That's reality. I had this friend, we'll call her "Melody", she accused me of living in a fantasy world (a lot of people do) for wanting to hitchhike across the state into New Jersey to meet my soul-mate (at the time), and up until a month ago she had accused me, and accused me relentlessly about using my life to my "full potential", using my talents to their greatest length, and all that jargon - when she had no idea what I was doing with myself. She never asked, and when I showed her my writing of what I WAS doing, she shrugged it off and saw it as nothing. She was too busy worrying and stressing over which university to apply for. More education. Education is just having the ability to memorize the text they give you in endless amounts of books. "Legitatmately intelligent" a good friend from Testriffic and I had said. That's all it amounted to. While I was being accused of living in a fantasy world, most of my friends were sad, hopeless, depressing and melodramatic
individuals whom I didn't care for - they certainly didn't show any enthusiasm for talking with my weird-ass, so I cut off personal ties with them..But while I was being accused of living in a fantasy world, I was discovering death. Life. Birth. Death DEATH DEATH. THE END OF YOUR EXISTENCE. How could you call that fantasy? I coped with the knowledge I may not wake up the next day. I may die in my sleep. I may be shot in the road. I may go LEGITAMATELY INSANE and slice my own throat infront of my mother. I may be a victim of hit and run. All these I had coped with and accepted and waited for my time to die - and until that time will come: I will be nothing more than The Minute Snake of the clock that refuses to stop ticking in this cardboard box we call life.
It's 4:20AM (Enter pot joke here) and I'm going to visit a friend's myspace page and let her know how gorgeous she is and how I don't feel like I'm lucky enough to have her as a friend/contact, because seriously - she is out of my league. Outer-wise and inner-wise. (Ex-lovers have said my personality is beautiful. It's not. I just show everyone the part of Jake that's socially acceptable. I'm too tired to show the real me to anyone, even myself)
Aside from the short mild sadness, the nutmeg experience was a good one - Had it been freshly grounded nutmeg straight out of the store: I would have been tripping and scared off my ass, facing death. This I'm sure of. All I'm worried about is saving up 25+ dollars for three 300mg bottles of DXM.
I need more cofee.
End at 4:27AM
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But... good jelly beans!-- she spelled criticism wrong!!
Sorry but here's your critizim... 2/4 should be 1/2 Remember to always reduce your fractions ^_^ Other than that quite lovely.