In case you missed it, there’s a new post from two days ago in which I discuss school, fashion, AND DEATH. It’s riveting. But if you prefer the old (but young!) Laura, this post is for you:
Prelude: I wish I had a photo of the biathlon lolly. It was a translucent blue lollipop with a white relief of the biathlon logo. I never did end up eating/licking it as it eventually melted in its wrapping and trickled goo down the wall.
Regrettably, I was unable to find a clear photo of the so-called Anything Goes Board. It was a corkboard on which I’d pin bits and bobs, including the world’s most random lollipop (lolly not shown):
The main story is about my experience with magic mushrooms. I believe this was my third time doing shrooms and the first time I experienced undesirable side effects. The ex-friend known as Mr. Ayahuasca makes an appearance in this post. I did spend a year hanging out with him nearly every week.
I remember telling him that my trip had taken a bad turn, only to have him make fun of me. It irks me when someone you think is a friend shows no concern for your well-being. Ever. And this is why, despite having had loads of fun with Mr. Ayahuasca, we are no longer in contact.
So, yeah, if you want to be my friend, you’re required to give a shit about me.
Dec 18, 2010: Better Off Jewish.
I went snowshoeing last weekend. It cost me 45 dollars to discover that it wasn’t, as András claimed, “a walk in the park.” Not even with expensive snowshoes. There’s a lot of backward slipping as you try to ascend packed snow. Much of the return trip was a slip and slide ride, thanks to the chutes that resulted from hundreds of snowshoers wearing down the trail. Also, I drank green tea from a thermos. It was cozy.
I saw the mouse last night. I never imagined it would have any interest in my bedroom, for I do not store food there, not even in crumb form unless you count the biathlon lolly Tammy hooked me up with through her Olympic volunteering gig. I have this lolly pinned to my “Anything Goes” corkboard, which also happens to be the one hiding spot (I think) in my bedroom as the board still hasn’t been hung and remains on the floor giving the mouse all the privacy it needs. I kindly added some provisions inside; I hope mice find green cubes of poison appetizing.
On Thursday evening, I ingested three grams of poison: dried psilocybin mushrooms. That night, I saw the sky try to eat itself, a house breathing, and cracks in concrete snake outwards infinitely. The world became much more colourful, and humanity seemed hilarious more than cruel.
Mr. Ayahuasca and I visited an ugly rancher decked out in vintage Christmas decorations. The house was supposed to inspire charity, as it was organized by the Burnaby Rotary Club, and a collection box was set up outside the chainlink perimeter. But it was quite disgusting, even on mushrooms. If some charity wants to hoard hand-outs, they’ll need to be more inspiring. How about some twirling elves?
I had a more enjoyable time at the elementary school we dropped by after our eyeballs devoured the crude Rotary Christmas set-up. I fell in love with the star-less night sky when I laid on top of a concrete picnic table. I could see the faint traces of cloud form into a pattern of triangles and get sucked beyond the heavens.
I wanted to see more, but I also did not want to lose my guide around Burnaby. To my relief, Mr. Ayahuasca was right around the shrubbery dividing the picnic table from the track oval staring at something presumably enthralling. Past the track, outside the school boundary, was a constellation of street lights in a valley. The magenta sky burst upwards from the horizon, and the teeming triangles had reverted to clouds.
This kind of beauty came at a cost. During the final hour of my trip, I was no longer seeing nice things. The world was back the way it was, but my mind was still spinning and my body was attempting to flush out the poison. I cocooned myself in goose down in Mr. Ayahuasca’s bedroom and rode out the queasiness half-asleep.
The difference between dreaming on mushrooms is that you’re not a human being, and there’s the fear of forgetting that you ARE a human in your dreams. I almost turned into a geometric shape!
Within an hour, though, the toxins had run their course and I had enough pep in me to join Mr. Ayahuasca in the living room for a couple of episodes of The Office. As intense as it was, it was certainly more tolerable than a hangover.
I would do it again, but not until next year.