I was sitting at the table in the kitchen of the Gallia County Farmhouse, talking to my father, who was sitting with another person on the other side of the table. Our conversation turned to marijuana, and we spoke of how long it had been since I had smoked any. I told him I hadn't smoked for more than five and a half years. I knew this to be the case because I hadn't smoked any during all the time I had lived in the Summerdale Drive House, and I had lived at Summerdale for more than five and a half years. My father rolled his eyes as if he couldn't believe I hadn't smoked marijuana for such a long time.

***

I was still sitting at the table, but now I was alone. I continued thinking about how long I had gone without smoking any marijuana. Actually, I realized I had abstained longer than five and a half years, because I probably hadn't smoked any marijuana for at least a year and a half before moving to Summerdale – so I actually hadn't smoked marijuana in over seven years.

Suddenly I realized all the effects of marijuana on my mind had worn off. Seven years had been required, but now I could once again consider myself a normal person. Even though I couldn't claim to have never smoked marijuana, at least I could once again consider myself in the ranks of people who didn't smoke marijuana.

However, I was now thinking of smoking marijuana again. I had heard that people who stopped using something like marijuana sometimes waited seven years and then began again. But I hesitated to smoke again. If I smoked again, I would have to wait another seven years before I could consider myself free of marijuana. I was growing older and I didn't have a great deal of time left in my life. If I were going to finish my life as being marijuana-free, I should probably not start smoking again now. Instead, I should start looking into myself and my state of my mind. I could concentrate on meditating, which should be much easier now that I was free of marijuana.

A car suddenly drove by in the driveway by the back window. I looked out and saw that the car was full of people. I couldn't tell who they were, but I thought they were probably relatives of my step-grandfather Clarence, who had lived there on the Farm until his death. I knew some of his relatives still came there to visit.

I stood up, walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. I was hungry and thought I should grab a quick bite to eat before the horde traipsed in. I saw a plate of cookies, took one and stuck it in my mouth.

By now someone outside had stepped up to the door. When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a man who looked exactly like Clarence, except this man was about 30 centimeters shorter than Clarence and probably only about 40 years old. I immediately realized he must be one of Clarence's relatives, probably the son of Clarence's sister. I invited the man, as well as all the others behind him, to come into the kitchen. It looked as if the Farmhouse would be crowded today.

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