When I drink alcohol, when I take a hit of weed, I put up with momentary discomfort for later, longer-term gain.
Still, the nature of the two certainly differ.
With alcohol, it may taste horrible going down and (given you achieve reckless consumption) absolutely horrible coming back up or in the very least give you a sluggish sort of headachy hangover, but during that in-betwixt state, man, you’re going to be feeling rockin’, you know?
Still, either end of that sucks. Poison in, chunks out.
Or, in the case of weed, it tastes good coming in but makes you cough as it barrels back out of your mouth a few seconds later as a plume of smoke. Shortly thereafter you just feel rockin’, so you jerk off to get your rocks off and have incredible results. To celebrate, you take an endorphin-infused, post-masturbatory nap.
You wake up in a hangover called comfortably numb and hungry, wash your hands, get something to eat — which, whatever it is, tastes delicious — and watch a bit of a movie, take your Prosac and Buspar and commit, at long last, to perhaps a few hours of dead-to-the-world sleep.
You sleep. Sleep safe and sound like a dead baby log. Then you need to wake up to get ready for work: a zombie rising from his plaid-skinned grave, in a state conducive to his fear-elected undead vocation.
Still always and forever Back to Start it seems, yes — but lived up at every end in the very least, put to bed with a redeeming climax every single, solitary time around.
Nightly burnouts to ensure a cloud of comfy at dawn. Lubrication for the spinning cycles. That was all this was.
Be it with booze or green, you are just oiling up for eternity.