A Day in the Life of a Drug User - Rolling Right Along

He wakes in the morning, his eyes, fogged over. Stumbling to the bathroom to shower, thoughts are hazy from a dream he can't remember. He is uncomfortably sober at 7:00 a.m., but not exactly bright-eyed. Clean, refreshed; he steps into his Levi's, slides on a fresh pair of socks and pulls on his well-worn work boots, lacing them tightly. He puts on an old sweatshirt and heads to work. His office, adjacent to his bedroom, is chilly this morning. The window, stands open; a small fan draws all heat from the space. He put it there ventilate the room; the pungent odor of marijuana still lingers.

Andrew, owner of a semi-successful construction company, reviews his list for the day. In the midst of an enormous painting job, he still has to purchase supplies for an out-of-town restoration project, meet with two sub-contractors who are bidding to replace ten concrete catch-basins, finish payroll, type several invoices and also prepare an estimate.. and he still has to recruit two-more guys to help him with the painting. He pulls his rolling tray from his desk drawer, chilled, he reaches around and turns off the fan in the window. He opens his Laptop and reads headlines of the morning while he preps today's supply.

Depending on if he has to travel, he usually takes between 3 and 6 joints. Today, he just rolls 3, he figures he'll have an opportunity stop home early in the afternoon if he runs out. He is slides two of the joints into his "book" and sparks up the other one. He sends a couple faxes, checks his e-mail and enjoys the familiar sensation of getting high. His nervous-system relieved, he puts his tray back into the drawer. As his first call of the day comes in, he is already jumping into his van. "Hello, this is Andrew!" He answers cheerfully. He turns the key and backs down the driveway. I wave from the window, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. His big, toothy-smile, to me, is brighter than the morning Sun.

He comes home, late in the afternoon. We smoke, I start dinner. After dinner, a couple friends stop by. I crack a cold beer. Andrew declines my offer to fix him a cocktail, he rarely drinks. He hardly ever drinks coffee or soda and he gave up the cigarettes more than 20 years ago. Smoking Pot - is his addiction; the one constant in his life for 30+ years. Thick smoke swirls around his head, he leans back comfortably in his stoic office chair; his buddies are stoned. I'm stoned. We laugh, we philosophize; Andrew smiles at me, his eyes, glimmering through slits; he is completely contented.

Later, we settle into the living-room furniture, in front of the t.v. and we smoke a bowl together. "Well, I got just about everything on my list done today, Baby," He tells me, "I just hope I remember to FAX that estimate in the morning..."

Learn more about this author, Crystal Elizabeth Warner.
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