Spring is when you wake up, and you’re sick and you’re groggy and your hair refuses to co-operate, and your iPod ran out of batteries, and you’re late for work but you take your time walking anyway because the sun’s in your face and the wind’s at your back and for some reason you know that everything’s going to be alright.
The bachelor party went better than I could have ever planned. Aaron wanted a weekend where the groomsmen could bond with each other so initial plans were to head to Montreal, but I suggested to host it at my house, where I felt like I had the most control.
Friday night was drinking with everyone at the Honest Lawyer. We got the biggest table there, and for a couple hours it felt like we owned the bar with our large and rowdy group. There was much tomfoolery to which our lips are sealed, as is the custom for any bachelor party, the footage of which will forever be locked in the vault. There’s nothing wrong with a drink or three though.
I even moonwalked (or some reasonable facsimile thereof) around the perimeter of the bar, weaving between groups of people, put up by Pat for 10 points. He said the funniest thing was seeing everyone’s reaction. I was too busy making sure I didn’t bump into anyone to notice that people stopped what they were doing and turned their heads as I passed them. When I closed the circle the table cheered and I felt all eyes in the place on me. Something I normally avoid at all costs, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good.
It was also a meeting of the four bosses, the last time of which was almost a year ago during the birthday rounds. I was comforted knowing that Aaron was at my front, Trolley to his right, and Pat to mine at the table. The next meeting will be at the wedding itself this weekend. Exciting!
By Saturday we reduced to the core group for the rest of the tournament, which was groomsmen and MC. You know you’re old when conversation over breakfast is mainly about bacon, arts and crafts, and cooking shows. The pound of bacon challenge was worth 5 points, as evidenced by the plate dedicated to pork, which Aaron and Rob easily achieved.
Even though he didn’t show up until Saturday afternoon, I got to meet Jay, who was the only one out of Aaron’s crew that I hadn’t met. The rest of the weekend was spent game playing, Nerf warring, ultimate fighting in the backyard, and hanging out.
In the end, there just wasn’t enough time to do everything planned. I was also spreading myself thin between recording video, taking photos, and acting as organizer/host. Sometimes I wish I could be part of the action, but it’s more worth it to me to make sure the right angles, focus, compositions are taken. Still an absolute blast.
I offered to help Pat and Jen scout out some locations for the wedding photos. They’re looking for the less-conventional urban look, which I think is a great change from the clichéd tree and river shots that have been done to death. Since it’s mostly architectural, emphasis is placed on structures, textures, and colours. We spent a couple hours downtown, discovering areas of Ottawa that we’ve never found before (and Pat’s lived here all his life).
This was probably one of the most productive photo sessions I’ve ever had. I got a bunch of great shots, but there are too many to put into one entry here.
I’m a thinker, not a writer, a critic, not an artist, and I cannot, for the life of me, grow a beard.
It’s coming close to a year now that I ended my affair with marijuana. As refreshing, productive, and lucid as it is to be sober, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t miss it.
THC has the delightful ability to make everything better: music, food, girls, writing, riding the bus, doing the laundry. There are also things that can only be appreciated after a joint. You don’t see, hear, feel things the same way.
It turned into a lifestyle, a word I like to use because it sounds so much better than “addiction”.
Weekends were straight wake-and-bake, especially if there was a party, a camping trip, or some good old dim sum.
I was a complete light-weight too; it didn’t take much to have me floating for a night. As a result, one ounce of BC hydro would last me more than a year. An added bonus was that I never needed a dealer; there was always some convenient source through a friend of a friend. O Canada, land of the free, the Inuit, and the plentiful bud. I’m sure that Pierre Burton would agree.
Sessions were a habitual provider of great memories (from what my brain was actually able to retain). I still think of Darren at the wheel of the Civic, looking over at me and whispering “Vanilla Sky” as he’d taunt our mortality by letting the wheel drift the car into the oncoming lane. It was at once terrifying and invigorating, something you could only feel after a session in the park. Even a few of my favourite entries were either inspired by weed or written under the influence.
Food was also a big thing. Every meal was like nectar and ambrosia. I never really stopped eating over the course of the day, as I’d have food around me at all times. Pretty soon, I hit a satisfying all-time high (no pun intended) with my weight. Now that I’ve stopped, I lost it all. They won’t even let me donate blood anymore because I don’t meet the minimum weight requirements. This is what I looked like, circa early 2005, and this is what I looked like circa early weekend. How I miss the fullness of my face.
Sobriety is different. Everything is clearer, but toned down. Life gets evened out.
As much as I miss it, I won’t go back to smoking weed again. I had a hard enough time stopping in the first place, and the risk of getting addicted again isn’t worth it.
Instead of the racing ideas and inspiration from when I started, I turned into a zoned-out waste. I’d be completely useless when it came to talking or thinking. I stopped liking myself when I was stoned. My stomach felt like it was slowly digesting a sack of pebbles, and my throat became sore and dry. Even now, I still come across the odd stash of honey lozenges in the back of a drawer.
It was especially scary in the last few months when I could feel my tolerance building up. I was constantly chasing after that head-tripping peak from the early days, smoking more and more, but it’d never last longer than a half hour. The weed would help me sleep, and when I stopped I turned into an insomniac. For a while, the will to do anything eluded me because nothing was entertaining.
Now I’ve quit my vices altogether. No alcohol, no caffeine, nothing. Sobriety is underrated.
I know I’ll never go back to that time in my life, but I sure do miss it.
