Captain's Log, Supplemental
The first day passed, and I seem to be well grounded in my sanity. Although, there must be some sort of endorphin release when one gets to walk around in sunny Los Angeles on a gorgeous week day such as this one. I let my mind wander to my friends who were spending the day up in fluorescent-washed offices. It was some sort of surreal, hallucinogenic place to be in. Sauntering around in the late morning is also more of a temptation to solicit the Green Lady, when you realize how great it is to sit around and stare in every direction, listen to the wind, absorb some sunlight... on weed!
As I write, I am sitting and staring at a little package I am intending to send to my sister. Since I am a considerate and compassionate sibling, I got into the habit of rolling up a tasty treat, and sending it to her in a satisfactorally sealed package. To avoid any "Imperial entanglements" I address the package to "Able Rawley" from "R. Gustav." I consider myself clever, but I just may be lucky that no U.S. Postal worker gets wise to the idea (or isn't paid well enough to care about doing their job well). It's good that my last vestage of Herbifiable temptation is inaccessible: sealed within several layers of packing.
Also, my wayward co-worker and subletter, Chet, brought home a 24 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, pushing the intensity of enticement even further. Ahhhh PBR. The memories: the long poker nights, the shitty beer and the endless hookas! That's hookas, not hookers.
I do feel as though I owe an apology, however. Two (count them) of my fellow scalawags are having birthdays this month. And, obligatorally, parties full of debauchery and mayhem are bound to ensue. I must say, that the decision of which month to try out this scheme was arrived at arbitrarily and it happens to be an unhappy coincidence that their parents' decided to fuck in July. Hey baby, hate the game, not the player.
Oh, yeah... and St. Paddy's Day is in March too. Goddamn it. It's going to start feeling like I've just had my wisdom teeth pulled, and I'm forced to sit down to dinner with 10 other people; gazing longingly for even the smallest taste... or maybe that's why God made the contact high.