This is the bane of my existence.

I am a soft-spoken guy. Apparently, I come across to a lot of people as chill, even though I’m typically in the midst of a depressive episode or existential crisis, brought on either by circumstance or introversion.

An old boss of mine was shocked when we were out having beers one night and I told him I didn’t smoke weed.

I guess he thought I was permanently stoned, which probably wasn’t helped by my personal email address at the time, which was intended to mean most evolved monkey, or the opposite, and had nothing to do with drugs.

I’m not anti-drug. I just don’t like the effect weed in particular has on me, and with my particular blend of emotional turmoil and addictive personality, I know that trying something addictive, even only psychologically, is probably a pretty slippery slope for me.

I do love mushrooms.

Psylocibin is the shit.

But it’s been probably almost twenty years since I last had any, and so I guess I’ll stick with a glass of wine or a nice craft beer. A well made cocktail is nice too, but only in moderation.

Everything in moderation, including moderation, if you ask me.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 2199 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The First 20 Hours, Josh Kaufmann
Comics: Strange Tales 5-8
Music: Happiness... Is Not A Fish You Can Catch, Our Lady Peace (good Canadian boys)