“They lie about marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you’re high, you can do everything you normally do, just as well. You just realize that it’s not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference.” ~ Bill Hicks
Following is a conversation I envision having with my future son:
“Son, sit down for a moment. I’d like to talk about about something.”
“Dad, leave me alone.”
“Son, I want to talk to you about what I found in your room last night, again.”
“Dad go away.”
“Son, listen. I want you to know that smoking pot is bad for you. That’s why daddy has no memory. Because he smoked too much pot.”
“I hate when you say ‘Daddy.’ I’m 17 years old. I’m not a friggen little boy anymore.”
“What’s that son?”
“You were giving me the speech about pot again, Dad.”
“I can’t remember. What?”
Yes, I must admit that the Grateful Dead era took a toll on my memory. I no longer partake in poking smot, not because I’m a puritan, but rather because i am not good at remembering. I always need to remind myself by writing an email addressed from [email protected] to [email protected] and cc’d to [email protected] (also me). The email will say something to the effect of: “Don’t forget weekend workshop in Maryland. Don’t forget airport is 405 freeway South. Not North. Don’t forget your shoes.”
It’s pretty bad. But sometimes I have those refreshing moments where I realize it’s not just me.
Yesterday I was having a post-yoga conversation with a student. She kindly offered to help promote my upcoming 2012 Livin the Moment Program by sharing it with various friends who write for different magazines.
Naturally, I was very thankful. She simply asked if I could her write her an email with a few brief points about my book to share with her friends.
So I mentioned, “Would you mind sending me a little email as a reminder? My memory is, ah, less than stellar.”
So she responded, “No problem. I’ll definitely do that.”
We bullshitted for a few more moments and as we were saying goodbye, I tapped her on the back, “So you’ll send me that reminder email?”
And she replied, “Yes but can you send me an email just reminding me?”
I was confused.
I asked, “So you want me to send you an email reminding you to remind me?”
She stared blankly.
I walked away before strolling down Santa Monica Boulevard and over to Ocean Avenue while gazing out at the vast blue sea. I felt sad and nostalgic for the early days when I remembered remembering that I could actually remember.
I took out a notepad from my back pocket and saw a quote by the great Jack Handy: “If you’re trying to remember a happy memory, don’t think back to a time when you were ALSO thinking of a happy memory, because man, how long does this go on?!”
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