It's funny. As a mescaline-addled teenager, you can't imagine being the sort of grown-up who stops tripping. It just doesn't seem plausible. But today, I finally gave into peer pressure, stepped out of my comfort zone and did something rather bold: I skipped my daily dose of LSD-25. And I've got to tell you, it's kind of blowing my mind!
My girlfriend Cece was the one who convinced me to try it, along with my trusty housemates Philippe and Dave. They've been off acid for a while now, always talking about how awesomely solid the world looks and their newfound, uncanny ability to sit down at a restaurant with people in it. I'd been the last to take the consciousness-contracting plunge, so they were super excited to watch what happened. You feel safer knowing that people who've been sober before are there to help you through it if things turn ugly.
We started off in the living room, watching the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie, one of my favorites. I was laughing my ass off--ever the goofball of our group--until my ears picked up something strange: the absence of laughter. When had I stopped laughing? This was weird, man. Cece and the guys were quiet too, looking sort of bored. "This show used to be good," Dave said, "but the movie is, like, edited by someone autistic."
That's when it hit me: this movie wasn't funny, and neither was Dave!
I can't quite explain that instant where you know you're coming down. It's truly indescribable; you just know. For one thing, everyone's shadow went totally flat, flatter than I could believe. The Rodney Dangerfield in Philippe's Caddyshack poster finally stopped giving me the hairy eyeball. And instead of convincing myself that the sudden sound of submarine sonar pings were the liquid history of my evolutionary/oceanic origins, I went into the kitchen and tightened the leaky faucet.
When I came back in, the movie had ended.
"It's over already?" I asked in disbelief, thinking my partially unfrazzled brain wasn't yet done bending time. "Only felt like an hour and a half."
"Wow, you were close," said Cece, checking the DVD case. "86 minutes, to be exact."
Right then I felt compelled--off LSD, you get some strange impulses--to remove my cape and admit it was a common blanket, nothing more.
"Yeah, not optimal as a cape," Dave agreed.
"You're straight as hell right now," Philippe added, without amusement.
I wondered aloud if anyone had some weed I could roll, but Cece told me it might be a bad idea to mix pot and nothing, as it can drastically change the nature of the journey. So we agreed up to the rooftop garden to enjoy the view and fresh air. By now I was feeling the full rush of clear-headedness and had become eerily coordinated, successfully propping the apartment door open for Cece while simultaneously holding a can of soda, and nothing spilled or was accidentally elbowed in the chest by their boyfriend.
As for the outdoors, what is there to say? I think I might be over them.
Eventually, things really started ratcheting up and getting hyper-real, so I told everyone I wanted to retire to a private space and sort through some stuff. They weren't on the same wavelength as me, but I holed up anyway and got practical. While deep in a mental list of errands that needed doing, I discovered this huge spider. Man, on any other day, I could've watched that thing forever, its crazy limbs elegant and precise as it made its brave trek up the wall. But this time I just killed it and got on with my shower.