Last Dance with Mary Jane

On the night of the Super Bowl, I had my first experience with ole Mary Jane. I'm not exactly sure why I decided to eat that fucking brownie, though I'm guessing it was a combination of alcohol, the general gluttony of the Super Bowl, and curiosity. In the spirit of science, I will now relay what I remember of this experience...

It really starts to hit me at the poker table. My vision begins to become disoriented and my concentration begins to fail. My mouth and throat go completely dry. I try to counter this effect by drinking water, but it is not working. My desire to smack the annoying guy sitting next to me is overwhelmed by disorientation. I lay down on the carpet. My body does not feel right. I am completely miserable. A sudden urge to vomit strikes, and I run to the kitchen in order to prevent messing up the carpet. This attempt to prevent a disgusting disaster fails, as there is vomit all over the place. I am crouched over the kichen sink, with pieces of vomit on my shirt and face. I stay hunched over the sink for what feels like forever. I lay down on the floor, and the worst of the experience starts to set in. My body temperature is quickly switching between freezing cold and burning hot. Many of these rapid changes in body temperature are accompanied by my heart pounding and racing out of control. I feel like my heart is about to push its way out of my chest. Fear sets in. I am very afraid that I have been poisoned. This seems to go on forever. I finally fall asleep. I wake up. I feel like shit. I am so cold on that kitchen floor that I am shivering. I have my own vomit on my shirt, in my hair, and on my face. I get up, and wash the vomit off of me, but I can still smell it. I crawl into the living room to sleep on the slightly warmer carpet. At first I use my coat as a blanket, but I then realize there might still be a few small pieces of vomit on me, so I put my coat on to prevent the further spread of vomit. I lie down on the couch, in my coat, and cover myself with a blanket. I am finally warm. I am woken up by the host of the party, he informs me that I need to go so he can get to class. I am overwhelmed at the feeling of shame for what I did to his apartment. I leave. I get home. I feel like garbage for the rest of the day.

That is a rough summary of that night. That was the worst night of my life. I will never endure that again. That was my first and last dance with mary jane. If I ever have children (doubtful), I will relay this experience to them with all the gory details to dissuade them from using drugs. To the host of this gathering, I offer my deepest regrets and apologies for what happened. I am truly sorry.