I probably should have done more drugs in my youth. Actually, I probably should have done drugs at all at some point in my life. Because I never have. I took some Tylenol after I gave birth. I take cold pills when I am sick. But when I was recently asked to write a ghost piece about drugs I am pretty sure that is not what they had in mind. In fact, until I met my husband I didn’t even know what pot smelled like. So I am probably not qualified to write this piece.
I am sitting here, staring at a blank screen trying to figure out how to write about drugs. Um… they are good for you? Probably a bad angle. Use sparingly? Probably not appropriate. Take with food? I don’t think they come with instructions. I go on sugar highs all the time. Does that count?
I remember all the warnings in school about peer pressure and drugs. Where was this peer pressure? I don’t ever remember anyone offering me anything, much less pressuring me into it. It wasn’t until long after high school and college that anyone even mentioned drugs. To me drugs are like Post Colonial novels. I have nothing against them, but I also have no interest in them. They are just there. I acknowledge their existence. I nod and smile when people talk about them. But I most certainly will not be asking for them. And should anyone ask me, my reply to both has always been “Oh no, I am fine, but thank you.” As I nod and smile some more.
Hubby used to try to get me to take drugs. He used to be more insistent about it, but I think he has figured out it is not going to happen. He said it would be good for the children. I am not sure how my drug use is good for my children, but then again I am not sure what drugs do. I have vague notions. I have watched others take drugs. Then I got bored and went to Starbucks.
So for the first time ever I think I am going to have to turn down a writing assignment. Oh no, I am fine, but thank you.