I had mushrooms this time -- mushrooms! How I adore mushrooms. Mushrooms are like acid, but with more laughing and more crying. And yawning, apparently there's a lot of yawning, I had forgotten about that or not noticed it before. Oh no, I must have been yawning because my BRAIN was STARVING of OXYGEN! How could I do that to myself! Yawning is fun, though.
There was a period of time where I couldn't stop laughing. Everything was funny. EVERYTHING. I was trying to explain something to Michelle, but I was finding it difficult to get the words out. I finally managed to say, "I can't stop laughing," and she smiled and said, "that's good!" and that made me happy. Part of the problem of hallucinogens is that I'm constantly worried that people are going to think I'm on drugs. Or am just really weird and stupid. I wish I could stop thinking like that, because it takes something away from the experience. I was even worried about what Michelle would think, which of course is ridiculous.
I thought a lot about thinking. I thought about how when you're tripping, you have all these thoughts and observations, too many to record, too many to mention to your companions. Michelle and I walked to the New Jersey Folk Festival, which occurs in a neighboring area of the campus. It happens every year -- it's why most of the people we're people-watching are there -- and yet this is the first year I've gone and seen it. So now I know it really exists. Now I know the people aren't coming just so I can watch them. How somewhat disappointing.
The Folk Festival part is in a big lawn in front of an old-looking house. I don't know what the house is; everything is on Cook Campus, which is the Agricultural/Environmentally-type campus, and I only ever had one class there. So I'm not familiar with the area. Anyway, the sides of the lawn are lined with food booths, selling all sorts of fried stuff. Michelle had a hankering for a fruit smoothie, which is why we went. The friedness in the air made her want french fries, too, so she bought some of those, but they turned out to be not that good. Later that day, on the Food Network, I learned that Americans consume an average of 365 potatoes a year, which averages out to somewhere around one potato a day.
Michelle kept asking me if I wanted things. "Do you want a smoothie?" "Do you want a hamburger?" "Do you want a funnel cake?" After several polite "no thank you"'s, she said, "you don't want anything, do you. I guess I'll stop asking." Drugs make you not-hungry. I love Michelle.
[For the day, it was Michelle, Jeff, and I. Jeff's brother joined us at the blanket. Michelle was sober, I was tripping, and Jeff was rolling. The whole day I felt like an archetype: Michelle was the boss, she and Jeff talked to each other a lot, and I sat in the back and just watched everything.]
We came into the lawn from behind, walking between two booths. As we walked in, I noticed myself noticing everything. I remember noticing a big pan full of grease, or something. The swirls in it looked beautiful. I thought, I would not normally notice that. So why not? What's stopping me? I should try to notice things more.
That's the thing about drugs: I don't necessarily think drugs bring you anything you can't get yourself; but I think they bring things to your attention. I saw a baby in a stroller, and I immediately imagined myself in that stroller, everyone big, all noises loud, confused as hell, confined in that chair, going whereever I was pushed. That's not something I needed mushrooms to imagine for me; but I probably wouldn't have thought about it otherwise.
The mushrooms were good, but there weren't that many, so it didn't last very long. Only like four or five hours. Though I did feel a little weird for the rest of the night, until I started smoking. I took a super super long shower. I really, really like Michelle's shower. It's real bright in there.
When I was putting the mushrooms on my peanut butter sammich, Michelle said, "aren't you getting too old for this?"
At the field, there was a blanket of hippies nearby, all in their forties or fifties or more. They had guitars. We think they may have been the same hippies from two years ago; that year they played Indigo Girls on their stereo and loudly discussed the genius of "Closer to Fine". Someday WE will be those hippies, going back to Ag-Field Day year after year, too old, pointed at by the college kids. Fuck 'em. We didn't like college kids when we were AT college.
On the drive from the field to Jeff's brother Chris's dorm -- he lives in the same dorm Jeff and Michelle and Dave and Suave and Kim and Nick and I lived in, on my floor, and next year he'll be in the same on-campus apartments that Michelle and Kim and I (and Jeff and Nick, by virtue of long-term-guest status) lived in sophomore year -- well, that drive, first of all. Always the same drive, from Cook to Busch, in the back of Michelle's car, with the music on. This time around the mushrooms had almost entirely worn off, so it didn't seem like I was in a movie, like it usually does. You ever get that feeling, when the sun is out and all you can hear is music, that you're in a movie? One time my friend Danielle and I were canoeing from her shore house to a restaurant across the bay. We went to a restaurant via canoe! We brought a boom box and listened to Murmur. Out on the water, there's no other sound, especially with music up loud -- when "Sitting Still" was on, and we were paddling, and smiling, and the sun, it felt like we were in a movie, and we were paddling thirty miles an hour.
So no cinematic feeling this time, but still thoughts -- holy cow do I not want to get old. I'm quite silly and ridiculous sometimes, and at some point that's going to change from "cute" to "weird". I guess the key is to not give a shit. So I'll try not to.
At the beginning of the walk from Michelle's car to the field -- and it's a long one -- Michelle said that the day was a clusterfuck. "I think this holiday is always a clusterfuck," I said. And it is. Ag-Field Day. We're never on schedule. Not once. And yet, it's still pretty great. On the walk back to the car, Jeff said, "the only thing Rutgers does that will never disappoint me: Ag-Field Day."