[Note: okay, I SWEAR I tried to keep notes and things about all of my experiences in Washington, but for some reasons that will presently become obvious, I could not record much of this particular experience, and this part of the journal is being written solely from memory. Or something sort of like memory... This is as close to accurate as I can POSSIBLY get it... ~CJR* 09 September 2001]

I SHOULD have listened to Monica and Jenn when they told me "Western wacky weed" is more potent than its Eastern cousin. What the HELL made me think they were just expressing some sort of local pride?

Am not sure what time it is, or how much time has elapsed, but a little while ago (or maybe several hours ago), Bronwyn brought out a nice little box of "drugs" and a bong. I was fairly hesitant anyway, because pot does freak me out a little bit, but... peer pressure, you know. It's not like Bronwyn and Ian called me a chicken, and it's not like I called them a turkey, but it's join in or get left out. It's become VERY clear to me in the past few hours [minutes?] that I'm a terribly insecure person in general. For this entire trip, I've been obsessed with fitting in, with being a "real" Seattlite, a native or whatever, part of the group. In doing so, I've probably just alienated myself further, but I've been going along with EVERYTHING. Gahd, Diane, I just need to get some GUTS.

I'd never used a bong before, and they had to show me how to work it. I still couldn't get it right and ended up gulping down a lot of air, but by my third try, I managed to inhale some smoke, which I held onto for a good ten seconds ["seconds"... there's that time thing again...], before choking it all back out. I recall Ian saying, "There you go!" or "That was a real one!" or something like that, and that's about as far as my coherency level went.

I recall somebody putting on a video of some of Björk's music videos. I recall hearing "Jóga" playing, and thinking that I'd put that song on Ian's mix-tape of love songs... Couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed, to shoot him a grin, or to pretend I wasn't thinking a thing about love songs and mix-tapes... Am not really sure which option I chose, either, which is scaring me more than a little bit.

Am not sure what's on TV now. It's no longer the Björk thing anymore. A bunch of people cursing I think, and I'm pretty sure Quentin Tarantino is in it. I can't see the TV anymore; I've gone mostly blind except for things very, very close up, and I have to really concentrate in order to see those things.

Quentin Tarantino is yelling at me. It's scaring me. Please stop yelling at me. I'm sorry.

I'm very, very afraid right now. My lungs are burning; I remember this feeling from the very first time I got stoned. THAT time, I'd had FOUR bowls. This was ONE hit. Jesus Christ.

I hope I'm actually sitting in this chair right now. I hope I'm not wandering around in traffic someplace. I hope I haven't wandered down to Lake Washington to take a swim. I hope I'm actually sitting right here. I can't see Ian or Bronwyn anymore, although I think they're still here. Oh gahd, what if I'm trying to swim in the lake, and what if I drown? What if I'm not really in this chair? What if I left the chair hours ago? What if I'm dead? What if I'm drowning and I only THINK I'm in this chair?

I looked up from the TV just now and saw Bronwyn, so I guess I'm still in the living room. I'd like to go over to her and tell her, "listen, I can't handle this; I'm way, way too stoned and I'm basically freaking out, and I need somebody to hug me and tell me it's okay. I need somebody to keep an eye on me, maybe just hold my hand for a little while, because I keep feeling like I'm going to accidentally wander outside and get lost and end up in the lake..." Realistically, I can't do that. I think Bronwyn and Ian must be a little stoned too -- they've GOT to be, considering they had a LOT more than me -- but I feel so stupid admitting I can't handle this.

They're probably laughing at me anyway.

I wonder why they hate me so much?

I have to hide now. I can't let them see me. If they see me, they'll know how fucked up I am. I'm just not going to speak anymore tonight; I'm just going to shut my mouth and pretend I don't see them. If they say anything to me, I'll pretend to be engrossed in watching the TV. Where the hell IS the TV anyway? Bad idea. I can only imagine myself staring fixedly at the TV, and gahd knows, it's probably not even ON anymore... So they turn around to look at me and they see me staring at a TV which might not even be ON, and of COURSE they're going to know I'm freaking out and I can't handle myself. They're going to laugh at me. They're going to hurt me the second they find out I'm this vulnerable.

How the hell do I get them not to pay any attention to me? I've got to hide. If only I could make myself invisible...

I'm going to pretend to be completely preoccupied, so that if I'm not really invisible, and they do see me, and they DO talk to me, I'll be able to pretend I just didn't hear what they were saying...

I could pick up my book and pretend to be reading -- I couldn't POSSIBLY read right now, but I could hold the book in my lap... No, that's not exactly socially appropriate. I think the TV IS on, after all, and it might seem odd for me to be "reading" while the TV's on... I've got it. I'm going to write a letter. A little atypical for anybody else, but they'd expect it from me... A perfect disguise. They'll never notice me now. Perfect.

I'm writing, and the words are coming out on the paper, and I'm quite sure I've even maintained decent grammar and spelling, but I have absolutely NO idea what the words ARE. Of more concern than the words at the moment are the COLORS... The marks I've made on my paper are there, and although I can't read them, I can understand them anyway... They're presenting themselves to me now, actually coming off the page and introducing themselves, not as LANGUAGE, but as COLOR, and as TEXTURE. The words are pink now, now pastel blue... They're embossed now; they have tiny pastel layers, structures within themselves. It's amazing, because I still can't SEE anything around me, and I'm pretty sure the weed has blinded me, at least temporarily, but I CAN see the colors, and I can feel their textures...

I learned somewhere, maybe some science class in high school, that LIGHT is both a wave and a particle. I'm aware right now that most people, myself included, experience light only as a wave. But in my altered state, I am experiencing light -- and color -- as both a wave AND a particle... I really should just sit back and enjoy the show that this fucked-up little journey is providing; I can hear half a dozen people telling me to chill out and just let it flow, just wait it out and see what happens... I'm sort of TRYING to relax, I think, and I DO rationally know that Bronwyn and Ian are NOT trying to kill me, but... Oh, shit, I can't relax. The second I relax is going to be the second I walk out the door and get lost somewhere downtown...

Am I on the highway now? What is this, Rainier Ave? Oh Jesus I hope I'm not really here on the highway...

I've given up trying to write a letter, but I'm holding the notebook anyway, just in case I start to freak or something and need something to clutch... The words are just words again; I still can't read them, but they're not layered and colored anymore... Gahd damn, I hope Ian didn't see that happen... If he did, he's surely going to know I made it happen. Oh hell, why does it matter anyway? Gahd knows I've made enough of an ass of myself to him...

I find comfort only in the fact that Ian and Bronwyn might also be stoned. I recall that a few hours ago [a few seconds ago?], Bronwyn looked at the TV and said, "wow, this is really cool when you're stoned..." Ian replied, "I bet..." So obviously, I'm not the only one who's a little altered.

You know, that Björk video, "Jóga," was mostly pictures of Iceland... Ian said something about Iceland once... Maybe in an email... Maybe that night on my porch when he told me about Amsterdam... Something about a yurt in Iceland... Or maybe it was a yurt on Venus... I wish I could remember what it was. It made me really happy. Doesn't matter now. It's ALL over now. Am not sure WHAT is over, but it's over, and I'd like to disappear right now and make everybody just a little happier... I've caused enough trouble. Gahd, how much I'd hate me if I was Ian and Bronwyn.

Don't panic now, just keep breathing... And don't keep looking at your watch... Just keep breathing, and even if it seems like no time is passing, it is passing, and eventually, this will wear off and you'll be fine again... Unless, of course, the pot has triggered some latent genetic tendency toward schizophrenia... Didn't somebody tell me once that if you have tendencies toward any mental illness, smoking weed will bring it out? Oh shit, what if this never, ever ends...

The television is definitely on. Some people are kicking each other on whatever video is playing. And... oh my gahd, I can't believe this, but I recognize the song that's playing on the soundtrack: it's the same song Jon Baier was playing the very first time I got stoned. What the hell's the name of this band? Something with a "P." Come on, THINK, Carolyn... At this point, if you think hard enough, you'll be able to recite the entire "P" section of Record Town. Portishead? No. Porno for Pyros? No. Well, maybe... That's close anyway.

In any case, I remember that Jon Baier played the CD that has this song on it, the first time I was stoned. I remember sort of flipping out then, too... Remember, I invented a whole video for this song? There was a man all dressed in black, maybe he had a cape on, and he was beating the hell out of somebody with a chain. I remember there was a lot of greys and browns in that video in my head... It all took place out in this forest, and this woman in brown was tied to a chain-link fence, and the man in black was beating her with a chain... I remember the sound of the chain hitting the fence.

Prodigy, that's the name of the band. Jaymi used to make a face that looked exactly like one of the guys in the band. And they had a centipede in one of their videos.

Please stop hitting me. Please stop. I'm sorry.

The centipede is in the TV. I don't think we're really watching a Prodigy video. I think we're watching something else that has a Prodigy song on the soundtrack, but the centipede is on TV anyway. Go away, centipede. Please go away.

I think Ian just looked at me. Gahd, I hope I didn't make a noise or something. Am I crying? Oh gahd, I think I'm crying... Stop it, Carolyn, just stop it...

Come to think of it, I'd better check up on my bodily functions. I've been forgetting to think about what my body is doing. Am I drooling? Oh shit, I think I'm drooling. And what if I've WET myself? Jesus, I've GOT to get to the bathroom RIGHT now in case I have to pee. I'm not sure I could remember to hold it if I DID have to...

All right, concentrate Carolyn. You're going to stand up, and you're going to walk to the bathroom. Concentrate, and try to remember what you're doing so that you don't accidentally walk out the door and go outside. If you go outside, you'll never, ever find your way back... Bathroom, okay?

Okay, I'm standing up... Walk a straight line now, and don't speak or they're going to know you're fucked up and they're going to know you were the one who summoned the centipede and they're going to yell at you... Keep going... Almost there...

Shit, how long have I been IN this bathroom? Have I been lost in here? Oh, this is WAY worse than I thought... Okay, it's time to go back now. Take it slow, but not too slow. Act nice and normal.

Oh wow, I just had a really great idea. I'll pretend to be ASLEEP. They'll never notice me if I pretend to fall asleep. Now do this nice and easy, don't just slump over and pretend to snore. Don't make any noise, don't make any sudden movements. Just slowly lay your head against the chair and close your eyes... Nice and slow.

Maybe soon I'll fall asleep for real, and all of this will go away. I hope I wake up tomorrow. I hope I don't die. I hope I don't sleepwalk. Oh shit, I hope they've locked the doors so I can't get out and fall into the lake...