Sunday Bloody Sunday

I hate Sundays. They are a “nothing” day - a void in the week. Previously, I had the alcohol hangover and the cannabis sedative to blur the edges and get me through them. Now, I have to sit them out raw.

I hated them when I was growing up as well but that’s because I was dragged to church, not once but twice - the morning and evening service - it was absolute torture and completely ruined the day. My brother and I would try all sorts of tricks to wangle our way out of it but no such luck.

Losing My Religion

This was all because my mother had “found God” - not the gentle, local Church of Scotland, but full-on, Billy Graham-style American evangelism. As if playing the violin didn’t paint a big enough target on my back, having “religious nut” parents was the icing on the cake.

The one saving grace, ironically, was the congregation. We met a lot of “sinners” who were trying to repent - many of them drug users, glue sniffers, and rebels. They were fantastically interesting characters, and because they were “converting,” we were allowed to spend time with them. That is exactly where I learned about magic mushrooms and acid. The church, intended to save me, became my gateway to the underground.

Every Move You Make

I was fascinated by the stories they told of tripping. I couldn’t wait to try it myself. Glue sniffing was the easiest access point, but Evo-Stik was impossible to get - we lived in a small town, and my parents ran the newsagents. My movements were tracked by a “vast army” of customers only too willing to grass me right up, so I was reasonably well behaved. On the rare occasions I did get up to mischief I would be caught almost immediately so I tended not to bother.

I read in a magazine that petrol was just as effective as glue. Lawnmowers were everywhere, and fuel was easy to syphon. My best friend and I would hide in the shed with our polythene bag, inhaling. The buzz was very short though and didn’t last long so we spent most of our time learning how to breathe fire. How we weren’t seriously injured, I’ll never know. Although one time while we were mucking about with a tin of petrol, I managed to set my trousers on fire giving myself second degree burns and having to confess all to allow medical treatment.

Accidents Will Happen

There was a period in early High School where, in the space of a few weeks, I managed to set myself on fire as detailed above, fall through a garage roof (breaking my wrist), and puncture my bottom lip with a brake lever while trying to wheelie a bike.

It was a reckless, high-speed existence. I’ll tell you about the time I fell into the river Ericht another day - that needs a dispatch of its own.

The Repair Front

Anyway, enough reminiscing. All is quiet on the repair front as the ‘flat’ sets in following the recent upgrade. I’ve noticed some somatic symptoms this morning - my system is clearly processing the significant load of the recent hardware integration.

It’s a purely physiological ‘upgrade exhaust’ response, which is to be expected given the current processing demands of the rebuild.

We await the next stage of the rebuild with anticipation.

#cannabiswithdrawal #PAWS #neuroplasticity #cognitiverepair #recoveryjourney

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