Dream of: 24 May 1986 "Radically Changed Behavior"

I was a witness in a trial in which Mike Schwille (a Dallas misdemeanor court judge) was the judge. The trial was being held in the living room of the Logan Street House where four long tables had been arranged in a square.

Although I wasn't on trial myself, I was asked some questions; I told the assembled people that I had recently bought an ounce of marijuana and smoked a joint. I regretted having bought the marijuana, because I hadn't smoked marijuana in a long time. I told them I would turn the ounce of marijuana over to them.

The trial had begun about 8:30 a.m. and had drug on until about 9:30, when the judge decided to go upstairs and take a break. The house began to seem more like the House in Patriot.

When a group of about six black people sitting on a raised platform began singing a religious song, other people joined in. When they began singing the word "Amen" over and over, I likewise began singing "Amen." My voice was clear and resonant and at one point I even carried the song—I was obviously one of the better singers. Finally, I lost track of the words and someone else picked up the song.

Another judge came downstairs to take Schwille's place. Schwille had needed to leave and go to his own court in downtown Dallas which was supposed to have begun at 9 o'clock that morning. The jurors began to deliberate and the new judge told them they should make their deliberations right in front of the other people in the courtroom.

Apparently, the entire trial had just been a practice trial, so it didn't matter if the other people in the room heard the jurors' deliberations. The jurors began to deliberate, but we still couldn't hear what they were saying. Finally, the jurors broke up and sat down. One juror sat next to the defendant.

Suddenly, a woman walked into the room and said that the defendant was accused of beating his wife and that the wife had been badly battered. Since evidence of the beaten hadn't been given before, I thought the jurors had probably found the defendant not-guilty because they hadn't known about the beating.

It appeared that the woman juror who was sitting next to the defendant was explaining the verdict to him, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. Someone told me to call over to her, so I screamed as loudly as I could to her that we couldn't hear her. People looked at me as if I were crazy for screaming like that. When the woman didn't respond to me, I finally stood and walked over to her. After asking her to speak up so we could hear, I walked back to where I had been.

When the other jurors stood up, I walked to them and asked one of them what the verdict had been; I was told the verdict had been "not-guilty."

When a female juror asked me if I were going to bring the marijuana in which I had bought, and if I were going to give it to her, I told her I would and I left. I began walking around; I was feeling quite bad and was unsure I wanted to turn the marijuana over to the woman juror. I went to the Hill in New Boston where I had hidden the marijuana and retrieved it. I then returned to Portsmouth and walked around with the marijuana. Since I didn't know what to do with it, I stuck it in my pocket.

I was near Logan Street at Mound Park and I decided I needed to get a taxi. I didn't think it was safe to be walking around there, and I certainly didn't want to be arrested. I saw a sign which said "public phone" which I thought I could use to call a taxi, but then I felt the key to the Logan Street House in my pocket and I decided to just walk back there.

I felt confused and distraught; suddenly I wanted to smoke more marijuana; but that depressed me because I knew I hadn't smoked any for a year and a half before I had smoked that one joint. Now I felt as if I were once again addicted to marijuana. All I could think of was returning to the Logan Street House and smoking more marijuana.

I remembered how I had recently spoken with my old college professor Rembert Glass and how I had somewhat chided him for having once told me he had never known a heavy marijuana smoker who had been able to quit completely. I had told him I had been able to stop. Now, however, I realized I had begun smoking again.

I was sure I didn't want to give the marijuana to someone else; I thought I would destroy it myself rather than do that. If I turned it over to the police, they might arrest me, so I couldn't take that chance.

When I reached the Logan Street House, I felt as if I were going insane and losing touch with reality. I thought, "Well this is what marijuana does. It radically changes my behavior."

My behavior indeed was radically changed. What I wanted to do more than anything was smoke more marijuana. Finally, I walked into the bathroom and began dumping the marijuana into the commode. Before I had dumped it all, however, I stopped while a little bit was still left. I thought maybe I could just smoke one joint and then dispose of the rest. I was having a difficult time thinking about anything but smoking.

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