He never left. Of course not. We were already one. One life split between two people, bound by an energy much greater than the anger or the sadness. I loved him, more than I had ever loved anyone or anything before, and more than any person has ever loved any other person. That I can promise.
It was big and it was scary.
We continued working at our gas station, me retiring to my apartment at night and him in the morning, we spent every second we had together, and if we couldn't be together we were texting.
We smoked and listened to "Pop Hits" playing softly in the back ground for days, never changing, noting moved but the cat. We couldn't sleep, we barely ate and broke contact even less than that. I let him melt into me, and me into him.
We talked and planned and shared, laying a whole life before us, too high to motivate our selves to make the money.
Our only hope was to stop spending. But how? How do you stop spending when you spend $280 a week on marijuana and little more on Taco Bell?
Deal.
We would become small town drug dealers. The math was simple. Buy an ounce for $280, sell half at 200% and smoke half. Reinvest. Suddenly we're smoking for free.
The math was simple, everything else wasn't.
"I smoke two joints in time of peace and two in time of war. I smoke two joints before I smoke two joints and then I smoke two more." -Sublime
Cliche, I know. But this is how we were living. In five days, we smoked almost that whole ounce, we made maybe one sale.
How!? How the fuck did that happen!?
We needed to quit. Had to. We'd spent better than a grand on weed alone in less than a month.
We were addicted. No matter what your great grandfather told you bout marijuana, we were addicted. Wanted it. Needed it. Craved and lusted for it.
We wanted one thing more,
Life.
We wanted to live a long, happy, life with lots of babies and too many dandelions on our perfect grass. Or maybe a long, happy life on a farm, with lots of babies and too many chickens sneaking into the house when the door was left open. Regardless of how it played out, we wanted a life worth something more than dime bags and drug deals.
We quit.
It was awful, no sleeping, no eating, fevers, vomiting, and anger. All too present. Living off Rockstars and Monsters, and praying that the other one would cave first so we would have to feel guilty about getting high again.
We did. Caved. Both of us. We went to a friends house and indulged in 12 joints that I can remember. Too high to drive for the first time in years. We left with 2 grams. Half of a normal buy, and when we got home and sobered up a little, we cried.
I'd never felt so disappointed.
We ended up smoking what we had bought and started our quit again.
