Have I Become Spicoli?

For those of you, who may not know, I have recently re-discovered the joys of smoking pot. After a self imposed dry spell of roughly 23 years.  Let me qualify that!  Dry only in the sense that I was not purchasing it.  I would of course turn no toke down, had it been offered to me but there wasn't all that much offering happening.  So 23 years between purchases, let's just say.

A gentleman I've made acquaintance with at the place I work has re-introduced me back into the culture.  The main reason for the self imposed dry spell was the lack of a disposable income that would afford me the ability to purchase my supply of smokables.  As luck would have it, this gentleman is also my supervisor on the project I am currently at work on.  That job allows me to use a per Diem, non-taxable and no receipts required.  That gives me a little extra cashish and a connection to some very high grade weed with relative ease. 

I have posted in the past about my family's perceived notion that I am de-evolving as a result of my work situation, being Far From Home.  That as a result of being Far From Home thus away from "civilization", that I am losing my socialization skills.  I myself attribute that "de-evolving" as the affects or after affects of all of the high quality weed I have been smoking for the last 4 going 5 months.

To be frank, I have even noticed what Wife and Daughter attribute to my condition.  Case and point.

Two days ago, while driving back home for an outing, as I approached our mailbox location (maybe 175 yards away), I asked Wife if she had gotten the mail, "No", she replied.  "Okay " I say, just to drive past the mailbox and not get the mail.  All the while Wife and Daughter laughing their fucking asses off because of the short span it took for me to forget that I wanted to get the mail.  That thought to get the mail exited my thoughts as soon as I volunteered for the job.

That sort of behaviour evokes, in my mind anyway, the stereotypical pothead a la Jeff Spicoli.  The scene that comes to mind is when he is on the phone talking about the grad party, hitting himself on the head with his shoe, not even feeling it, "Did you hear that, that's my head.  I'm soo wasted!" 

If anything is changing or de-evolving it's that I am becoming that persona.  The lovable forgetful wastoid.  A happy go lucky pot smoker.  Just living the day.  With a slight buzz on.

I can live with that.