I took my last hit of weed about seven months ago, now. It's had a couple of benefits, including less money wasted and a slightly improved ability to get things done, but the most enjoyable has been a return of regular dreaming to my sleep cycle.
I don't think weed keeps you from dreaming, but it does keep you, or at least keep me, from remembering them in the morning, and being, well, I suppose 'fully engaged' with the dreams would be the best way to describe it. I might have only fragmentary memories of the dreams, but I do know I was involved in what can only be called 'weird shit' while I was asleep.
I never really missed having fully experienced dreams, while I was using. But now that Morpheus' Technicolor Wonderland is again open to me almost every night, it's turned into a pretty good reason to not smoke again.
Dreams are just fun. Fun while they're happening, fun the next morning, when you go into the whole 'what the hell was that about' part of the experience, fun to recount to others, just like any other god-you-won't-believe-what-happened-to-me experience. Fun all around.
Why, last night, was I on the roof of a skyscraper that was being attacked by, well, something large? Why, after dropping a cartoonish dynamite bomb down it's throat, and having the subsequent explosion cause the building we were on to lean against it's neighbor, did I stop my headlong flight down the second building's stairs to look in on a small comic shop, where I met a short-haired blond girl? A girl who was so enchanted by my calling her cute, that she left a rambling, and very cute, message on my cellphone. Why, on the subsequent date that instantly began, did we see Michael J. Fox, and a guy who was in Blade 3?
Who knows? Hell, who cares? Not me. I just enjoyed myself.
Now I'm gonna go take a nap.
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