If I went to bed without getting high I'd never sleep at all. Cara asked me to stop and for a while I did. Or I tried. I would lie in bed, the unending posture of the awake. I would lie there wondering how time could possibly move so quickly one moment, and so interminably the next. They were the same seconds, were they not? I started smoking out back.
The beautiful thing about being together is that, after a while, you no longer feel forced to go to bed together. You may be your own people with your own bedtimes. I would crawl in later than her anyway, and the smoking pushed it back even more. I had a special jacket that I stashed in the tool shed. I ate a snack and then brushed my teeth, to get another degree between the smoke and me. I was smoking full joints and flopping into bed from another place. I was so high that I forgot to put my bowl away. I woke up to her holding it.
I don't sleep well. I worry. Cara thought talking about it would help, but talk about what? I can't sleep, what's there to talk about. I had my solution. She wants me to grow up. She wants to feel like she's enough to calm me down. But she isn't, and it's not her fault, and it's not mine. Can I help it if it's everything else?
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