‘I’m so sorry. It wasn’t me texting you. Cannabis did’
The other evening, I was feeling sad and lonely after my two children headed off with their respective fathers for the holidays, a major downfall of shared custody. I decided to get high and pass out for the night, even though it was 7:12 pm.
I didn’t realize how stoned I got until the next morning, when I woke up cuddling my son’s favourite stuffed animal, and using my daughter’s favourite stuffed animal as a pillow. I don’t remember bringing these stuffed animals into my bedroom, which would have been fine, if that was the worst I had done in my holi-daze state.
It was way worse.
A week earlier, I had bought the latest iphone, which I think is smarter than me. I can just think of carrots and within the hour my phone will direct me to articles on the benefits of carrots. My new phone also tells me how much time I spent on “screen time” and when I looked at it the next morning, apparently I spent more than two hours “social networking,” 34 minutes on “productivity” and five seconds on “creativity.” I’m not sure what this means, but who am I to argue with a phone that makes me look 10 years younger with its camera, remembers my face to unlock it, and gave me a free year of Apple TV?
Yet the one feature this phone is missing is a “not sober mode” option. It would be nice if my new phone knew just how buzzed I was before allowing me to send texts, perhaps asking me something like, “Warning! Are you sure you want to send?!” This would have given me pause, and I probably would have put the phone in a different room.
Alas, there is no such option, which is why I wrote a text saying, “I’m about to pass out,” to a male editor, who I highly respect, instead of the girlfriend I meant to respond to, because not only was I high, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, and their names start with the same first initial.
I am about to pass out
My first thought when I picked up my phone the next morning was, “Oy! I may need to get high again, to forget what I did when I was high.” Apparently, instead of my plan of passing out, I decided to reach out to a number of number of people. Once I started, I couldn’t stop.
First, my gardener. I wanted to settle his invoices, but in my text I accidentally called him the c-word. Yes, in the worst autocorrect of all times, my new phone changed the word “account” to that. Sober me checks for autocorrect mistakes, but high me just hit send, and now I’m wondering if I’ll ever see him again, which may be for the better.
I also sent the father of one of my children, a text message attempting to say we should work on our co-parenting skills in the new year. I now understand why I only got a thumbs up emoji from him, because my text to him read: “Frsiti, I tiknk whe ned to be knidre to chaec oether.”
Filled with text remorse, I wanted to text him the next morning to say, “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t me texting you. Cannabis did!”
It’s not all bad. It turns out that sober me is about to receive presents from high me. I learned this, when I looked at my emails after my texts, to see that my Amazon Prime order has been shipped! It turns out that I ordered some Troll dolls, a retro 1950s polka dot dress and a Professional 2-in-1 hair straightener, which can create any style in minutes, including tight curls, beach waves, sleek & straight styles. Apparently, I also had a craving for Maynard’s Wine Gum Candy, because I ordered a package of those too.
It seems I spent quite a bit of time looking into “25 small dog breeds.” Apparently, high me had the brilliant idea that getting a dog would ward off future kid-free loneliness. To those breeders on Kijiji who I sent e-mails to, all I can say is ignore my enquiries, because I’m sober now.
Apparently, shopping under the influence –SUI – is a thing. According to one study I found, out of about 92 million adults who confess to using drugs, roughly 55 million, or 60 per cent, admitted to making a purchase while being under the influence of narcotics, depressants, stimulants, hallucinogens.
With the holidays upon us, a lot of people will text high, mostly for the same reason as me: We’re lonely. But if you’re lonely and stoned, put your phone away. You’ll wake up with texting post remorse. Let me be a lesson. Happy Holi-daze!
Rebecca Eckler is the Author of Blissfully Blended Bullshit
Written by Rebecca Eckler, Mom 4/20