I've never smoked marijuana. Never, ever. But I imagine the experience to be very similar to my morning.
I got up at WTF o'clock to catch my plane. That alone doesn't weedify my head. But tag-team that with a fitful night of sleep, that kind of sleep where you don't really sleep because every 20 minutes you wake up sure that you've over-slept and missed your flight, and I'm pretty close to a stoner.
Slouching through the airport, I'm not sure if the haze in the airport is real, or part of the reality filter that my brain has slipped on to protect itself, or just some eye gunk.
The first miracle? I didn't sleep through the boarding of my flight.
I was really glad I didn't. Not only did I get to go home, but I also was granted a rare and special gift... the second miracle...
The nearly extinct Epmtius Airline-Seatius
The empty seat afforded me the illusion that I could catch up on my sleep during the flight. But the seat was a temptress. A big fat tease.
Oh sure, I dozed off here and there for a few minutes, only to startle back to consciousness either by the captain's charming voice blared over the 1960 Chevy Impala speakers they put in planes, or a violent seat-quake when the passenger behind me needed desperately to get to her travel bag, or my own brief dreams of cart-wheeling down the runway in a big-ass fireball that would be captured on video tape and shown for decades on Nova and The Discovery Channel every time they had anything to say even remotely related to airline safety.
And once I was awake, my throat was dry and sore. That kind of dry and sore that made me wonder if maybe the crackling captain's voice that woke me up was actually me snoring. And maybe the jostling from the lady behind me trying to reach her copy of Us or People was actually her shaking the seat to get me to stop.
Meh. Either way, I wasn't sleeping.
Off the plane, now in an even more dense fog, I made it to my car, and then made it safely to the girlfriend/dog-sitter's house.
After a good solid attempt at conversation and dog-head patting, Old Doug would have forced himself into the office, despite the mega hours he'd put in on the road.
New Doug is a little more realistic. New Doug looks at the bigger picture and what is best for him and those he cares about.
The emails and the questions and the decisions will be there tomorrow, and my brain will be ready for them. Today, I succumbed to my fate... a nap.
I awoke to the sound of my "Pick up the kids" alarm, and, thanks to the day's third miracle, was rested, clear-headed, and ready to rock.
The boys fetched, we decided to brave the gale winds and obscene prices and play a round of miniature golf.
(Not to be bragging, but I won. And this didn't hurt...
That's right... Hole in One.)
Thanks to the decision to rest rather than push through, the hustle and thrashing had finally given way. I was back from my drug-free but nonetheless disorienting funk and enjoying clear vision, steady hands, and my too-brief time with my boys.
The day ended sweetly with me and my boys, playing kick-ball, swinging on swings, talking, sharing, and laughing hysterically at the word "anus".
Numbers: 1.3 miles at 9:00p.