Standing in line at Safeway the next day, holding a quart of milk and baguette, just standing. Not thinking of anything. My brain, flushed and fluffed. I am tired but comfortable. Not sleepy.
It's always this way when I trip. It's like the dirty dish cloth of my mind gets wrung out, shaken, then hung out to dry. I feel better. Psychedelic experience No. 7 was as positive as all the others. It was "chiller" and less of an event, piggy backed with some effervescent mahli that really perked it up and kept things light. We kept it light. He kept it light. I love tripping with him.
The acid was the last bit of strip that he had retrieved from NWSS '09. It had weathered a time in my fridge at the trailer, then returned to his freezer at Douchington Manor. It was good stuff, the only stuff, I guess, I've ever had and I enjoyed it immensely. I credit this L for dislodging years of quelled creativity, repressed by my own neuroses. He handed it me, after work, in his kitchen, the little bit of tough paper and we chewed and washed it down with some Yellow Tail pinot grigio.
I like to make tea when I'm tripping. It keeps me from drinking too much alcohol and it gives me something to do. It really becomes a whole thing. I went with Celestial Seasonings Tension Tamer this go around, something to keep my tummy in check and meter the agitation of the powder. I had left my tea pot upon my hasty exit from the Manor in November. I smiled. It is a white kettle with a bunny head fashioned on the lid, made to look like a white rabbit. I made two cups of tea. The metaphor continued to flourish as we descended down into his basement, down into the underground, magical world of his Champagne Room. What magical fun would we encounter on this Friday night? Who could say.
We sat down, all prepared.
Big bottle of Yellow Tail Pinot Grigio. Check.
Cups of tea. Check.
Ice water. Check.
Stick pretzels. Check.
Ridiculous pile of mahli. Check.
Dank, homegrown Cinderella-99. Check.
Netflix streaming. Check.
"Wanna watch something?"
"Sure!"
We decided upon Trailer Park Boys II. I don't regret it. I've never seen any of the other TPB but quickly it became apparent that this doesn't matter. I laughed. I laughed and laughed. We stretched out on the floor, cozy and warm, enjoying the crawling sensuality of the acid. It makes me feel warm and since I was laughing so much, I repeatedly became convinced that I had peed my pants. "Did I pee my pants?"
He liked to check for me, to make sure I hadn't peed myself. His hands are amazing, strong and smooth. You can tell he works in an office but that he can and does do physical work as well. He knew the whole point was to get those pants off eventually. It would happen. They always come off eventually. ;)
Then we watched ZG "Live at the Purple Onion". I very muchly appreciate this gentleman. He pulls you in and pushes you away and in the end he never lets up but he's always on your side. He always is on the side of humanity. I think most comedians are, because I think humor is a way to try and make sense of the madness, the meanness, the confusion. It is a way for us all to wink at each other and for a moment remember, "Same team!" I love the smile ZG gives the camera at the end.
He turned to me at some point and said, "Can we have sex for a while?"
(Side Note: When I trip, I am beautiful. My hair is perfect and tousled and soft. My eyes sparkle like jade. My freckles seem like sun kisses. My smile contains the entire worth of good-natured mirth. And he is heart-breakingly gorgeous. His beard radiates easy sparkles when he smiles or scratches it. The soft waves of his hair, the splashes of red and grey in the darkness. His skin is perfect. His mouth is velvet heroin.)
Yes. Please. And it was gentle and lovely. It was good. We were love for a moment. We kept most of our clothes on, just a little jaunt, this wasn't our first rodeo. We knew later there would be plenty of time to get naked and let go. He looked at me and smiled. A smile that can and does melt my heart. Love. Love on a little piece of paper. Magic. Magic that can make us go back to that time when we did love each other. After the disastrous break-up, to be here with him, doing this, was such a relief. It was sweet grace that he forgave me for my sins and let me touch him again.
And then after, there was more laughing and touching and BEING to do.
"What should we watch now?"
"Dunno."
Looking at the screen, the lines of the digital window soft and colorful, like Playdough or crayons. Netflix suggested some Anthony Bourdain. And boy howdy, was it a good suggestion. He went to China. If you haven't seen this episode, then you ought to, it will not matter if you are tripping for realzies. It will feel like it. All the food talk made me hungry. There just so happened to be a slice of cheesecake in the fridge upstairs. I retrieved it and we ate it together. I fed him a few bites and I felt like a lover at the peak of greatness.
I eventually spilled some tea on my pants and they had to come off.
The rest of the night is only for the two of us to remember. I couldn't do it justice with words anyway. And the next morning came and we went out and did some touristy things and enjoyed the afterglow. And then it was time for me to go home. Remembering the love we had once. Funny or ironic or nothing, weird how you can love someone and hate someone and love someone, and I guess I'm mostly talking about myself in that context, funny how I can be OK and then be brought low and then be OK again, because I never stopped loving him.
But just to enjoy him. To be with him, to smell him and feel him and hear his voice. To be on the winning team with him again. To come back from all that darkness.
It always ends. Alice always wakes up at the end of the story, no matter how much you want the adventures in Wonderland to continue. Nightmare or dreams, I always wake up. I stopped by the Safeway before the long, quiet journey back to my house. I needed some food to tide me over and I wanted something tasty. I also was thirsty for a rose and had found one in my touristy travels that day. Delish.
What's up with rose? Why is it so hard to find? They have the refreshing lightness of whites and the sturdy flavor of reds. There isn't a single bottle to be found in Safeway. I was glad I had pulled the trigger on the spendier bottle. The rare bottle is worth it. Always snap it up when you have the chance, because you never know when you'll be able to find another. But don't horde it. Drink it. Drink it alone or share it. But don't sit on it too long. Wine is meant to be drunk. Take a deep whiff of the glass. Roll the liquid around in your mouth and taste the fruit. Swallow it down, the coolness goes down to become a warmth inside. And then it is gone. Everything ends.
Sometimes love ends. But the lesson from Uncle Sidney is that feelings are transitory. So when the bad ones are weighing on you, remember they will end. And when the good ones are falling like a warm gentle rain on you, just enjoy it. You can't cling to feelings anymore than you should horde good wine. I could live in his presence. The only thing I have wanted in these last two years was to love him and have more of him. But I don't know if that will happen and that's the thing, you have to just let things come and go, you have to let go of the reigns and hang on to the saddle horn to really enjoy the adventure. You might get bucked off, your horse may take a different route.
But that's OK; it's OK because I was there with him and it felt good to be there. All the hurts and fears and hopes and agendas, they can't take away the memory of that Friday night and all of our Friday nights. It can't take away the feelings I felt. I still remember the taste of that rose and I still remember the feeling of his mouth on mine and whether it was true or the dr00gz can't stop me from feeling like an epic princess when I think of it. Can't stop me from laying in the dark at night sometimes and touching my lips and thinking of how amazing it was to feel his kisses. He'll either reach for me again or I will have these memories.
LSD and the meaning of life, man.
Like our affair. Like Life. I did not set out to be on this course. I did not set out to hurt him. You never know what Netflix is going to suggest next. And when you roll with it, it makes it perfect. Acid lets you understand that things are both wonderfully meaningful and yet entirely inconsequential. It is just Life, moseying along, same as it ever was...
You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack.
You may find yourself in another part of the world...
...You may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"
Until next time.
