Cosmic Comedowns

Introspection. It always happens the morning after a binge. I suppose it is fairly obvious that waking up and discovering the bloody bandage on your hand and remembering, “Oh yeah, that happened”, (long even before remembering, or being reminded of, kissing the ugly girl, declaring your undying love for that pretty girl or falling down drunk in the middle of the street), is cause for a drastic re-evaluation of your existence. I’m talking big picture, cosmic shit.

In retrospect, things could have ended a lot worse, but I guess my guardian angel was working overtime while my responsibility gnome was tripping on MDMA with me... Still, however, some things in life cannot be fixed by a frantic drunken drive to the hospital, one very judgmental general practitioner and a, ??!! , “condom finger bandage”. Such things include, but are not limited to:

• Existential crises
• Comedowns
• Shitty friends
• Stupidity

And as a final addition to that list, the situation I currently find myself in: bored as shit, disdainful and in pain. But wait, shall I console myself? Sure!

Maybe all’s well that ends well. Maybe inherently I am smart enough to cope with and go about life in a rational manner, and it's all actually just the drugs' fault. Maybe I've had some of the best times of my life on drugs, but then again, I can’t really remember. Some philosopher reckoned that the extent to which any person can experience pleasure is limited by the amount of pain they have experienced in the past, and I think there is some truth in that. Balance. Perhaps by the same token, the better the party, the harder the emotional comedown. Seems logical. Balance. The Universe takes care of itself, impassive towards the discord of our reality, and I realise this most while battling hangovers/comedowns (my most prevalent moments of weakness), paradoxically  by nursing them tenderly with a joint, breakfast and company. This realisation then usually proceeds to melt into something like a “Total Perspective Vortex” once the seemingly more severe monotony of everyday life is rediscovered, leaving one with a feeling of pointlessness and futility.

But all be it humbling it is a good feeling, because even though there is no meaning to life, and I’m not even a spec on 4.6 billion years of history, it is exactly because it’s all so unfathomably big that it’s amazing to just be a part of it. A tiniest of parts, my little world, in which I get to witness, in awe, the grandeur of the universe that so statistically improbably gave birth to the consciousness which now drips onto this page.

So fuck it, relax, and remember (in the words of the Almighty), it’s just a ride.