Waiting for LSD

At 7:21pm, I'm sitting around on the porch over in Avondale. Where Rachel lives. There's a big blowout party tonight with fire and music and drugs. I have an order in for LSD, which should have arrived a couple hours ago. I would have liked to take it early with some sunlight still up so I could see the party materialize. Others started drinking beer early, and I'm not one to sit around when others are drinking, so I had a beer. I'm also not one to have just one beer, so I got another. I'm also one to drink fast and keep going, so I've had seven. The party started before the acid actually arrived. I'd quit drinking hours earlier, and wasn't really drunk when I took a tab and ate it at 9:30. This party would not have made nearly as much sense if Shawn wasn't there, also taking LSD. There were a few others tripping too, and the rest of the party was a fucking mess.

This was strictly an outdoor party. Talk of 100-150 people was heard beforehand, and even then I had an inkling that this figure was outrageously high. It ended up being fifty people max, and those who showed up seemed to be the worst possible. It was as though you took the fifty worst people from a party of 150. This is my perception. What I expected, and what I saw. I was very satisfied. When shit got wacky or uncomfortable, I stood back and watched from afar. When shit cleared up, I'd wander back to friends. I only knew a handful of people, and only got positive energy or had respect for about half a handful. Shawn's friends Ian and Tom stopped by. I got a great sense of calm from Ian. In the approximate five minutes I talked to him I was able to re-re-confirm that I think he is great. His presence was a grounding force of the whole party for me. That's what I told Shawn when he brought it up, and that's how I felt. It's not clear who all these party people were, or if anybody really knew who they were. It looked like a fucking mess with a strobe light to remind you. Someone tripped over an extension cord and the strobe light and music went out. It never came back on either. I'm not sure what that was all about, but I was completely happy about it.

I can't express how comforting it was to have my van parked around the front of the house. I knew the whole time that if I got uncomfortable, or dissatisfied in any way, at any time, I could just go home and listen to music or sit with the doors open and look out over a field or at some trees. I took advantage of my van's water supply, I dropped off my spectacles (unnecessary when trees are moving and faces look satanic either way), and I changed into my favorite long sleeve t-shirt. I had my house there for backup, and it made me feel like the luckiest person alive. But I didn't need to hide.

I was awake and around the fire long after the party died. The other LSD people either left or went inside, and the party drinking/drugs crowd all went home. Eventually it was just me and Shawn and Larkin around the fire all night long, and well into the morning. Larkin doesn't do anything that makes him hallucinate. He's jobless and on unemployment and has a critical drinking problem. He lives in a tent in his parent's backyard, and kind of just wanders the area. He's difficult to communicate with, and makes a lot more sense when I'm on acid. Seriously. I was glad to have these guys to sit around with. There were long comfortable silences punctuated by ideas and uproarious laughter. Then the sun came up for real. Shawn went home around 8, and I went to my van to hide in my blankets.

I'd been coming back to reality for a couple hours, but was still far from normal. I didn't sleep, but I laid down and rest-thought. I sat up around 10am and wanted to communicate with people who I like. I turned my phone on and called Danielle to see if she was relaxing for her whole Saturday. Then I had a brief and awesome explosion of tears because I'm glad that I know Gary and Danielle. I didn't feel like I was ready to look and act normal back at the big house. Danielle didn't answer, but I did get a txt message from my Mom, who never sends txt messages ever. "Aunt Beth's birthday picnic today, be home by 1." I don't like shit getting sprung on me, and I still didn't have any sleep yet. This did not seem very realistic. I was ready to drive by this point, but not at all ready to communicate or act like I was normal. I went home.

I tried slightly to weasel out. I was going to be honest about the facts, but my Dad has a tendency to be a little snippy which makes it easy to just shut the fuck up and go away. However, I know that aside from these circumstances I want to go to family events and know who my family is. I don't know them, and recently there has been increased opportunity to change that. I want to at least show up. At 1pm I was feeling like part of the world again, and I knew it would be fine. I went to the picnic. When I heard anyone talk about being hungry or tired, I couldn't help smiling to myself. I'd been up for nearly 30 hours, and hadn't eaten anything since early the previous day. Sandwiches, broccoli, and cheese n' crackers were perfect. Lemonade. I was ok enough to talk to people and be about as normal as I get. When we got home at 5, I went upstairs to the inside bed, shut the drapes, and didn't get up for 16 hours.

I thought that LSD might teach me something about myself and my current situation. It may have a little bit. What it really did was emphasize what I already know. I don't belong here. I definitely don't belong at Rachel's house. All that happens there is people get really fucked up all the time. It's her parents house, and her mom gets really fucked up with everyone too. Her mom doesn't like the 'F' word, but has no problem smoking weed and having kids drink and smoke and trip acid all over the place. I shouldn't really be hanging out with Rachel either. She can be fun to be around, but my interest in her as a person is purely sexual, and with getting crazy drunk that got kinda ruined too. Plus we can't communicate on any but the most intensely superficial level. If there was a venn diagram of our personalities and every intricacy and detail of who we are and what we stand for - it would look very much like the number 8. When I'm peaking on acid and she's walking around with glow sticks swinging all over her sexy body, I can almost forget the facts. The good thing is I'm not so sure she likes me very much either.

In addition to thinking about spending time at Rachel's, I also thought about being in Kennett in general. I know it's not the best idea. I made a big mistake by getting all of those bicycles over here. What I did was plant roots where I don't want to be. Anything that exists outside of my van is a root in the ground. I planted roots exactly where I don't need to be. I have possessions outside of my van, and I need to seriously work toward the cessation of that. I need to get rid of everything I own. The positive side of this realization is that I already own a van, and I already know what makes me happy. For those who don't live in a van, but who want to - the transition is quite a hurdle. They aren't sure they'll be able to cope with the lifestyle. They've already invested money in furniture and knick-knacky shit to fill enormous spaces. I'm lucky because I don't have all that. I'm happier in a van, and I need to move further to solidify that as the only thing I have to deal with. I need to purify my simplicity.

So - I learned to stay away from Avondale and not plant roots outside my van. I also learned that I am drinking way too much. Of course, I already knew that, and I didn't do anything about it on purpose because it's easier that way. I might still fuck that up - because I usually end up drinking. But I know I shouldn't. It's fun, and often I even feel pretty boasty about it, but overall I feel somewhat ashamed of the excess. Why would I do something so unhealthy - mentally and physically - that makes me feel ashamed? I don't know. I never have.

While I was thinking, I also considered this blog. Ever since I've been turning it less into a 7:21 project, and expanding it to include detailed context of my whole life, I've found some barriers. I want to tell the absolute truth and get to the closest descriptions of my feelings, actions and reality that I possibly can. One snag with this is that there are characters interacting with me, and they might not want their details to be shared. This could be unethical. Or at least uncool. I'm sharing thoughts that I wouldn't even say in person to the person who I'm thinking the thoughts about. That's the same thing as talking about people behind their backs. I hate this kind of gossip. So - I try to focus on my feelings and perceptions instead of making slanderous statements. I'm still not sure people need their business talked about though. That isn't the only reason why the path of full disclosure is difficult. Consider: my parents will read that I was taking LSD, and they might not know anything about LSD. How can the lines of communication be so shut down for 25 years, and now I just open this goofy portal of personal info that we can't even really discuss? How? A blog.

I'll go further and say that I don't believe in God, I'm not sold on organized religion being a very good idea at all, I always wondered why we never talked about God ever outside of church, and my computer screen still looks a little funny from that LSD that I took. So does my cellphone screen.