Read It's Not Me, It's You: Subjective Recollections From a Terminally Optomistic, Chronically Sarcastic and Occasionally Inebriated Woman for Free Online Page B

corner 7-Eleven for beef jerky and cherry Slurpees, hoping everyone would have cleared out by the time we got back.
    Returning a little while later to the apartment, I’m not sure what was more discomfiting: the smell of cat pee (which Beth and I just couldn’t get used to), the smell of some other drug burning, or the Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds album playing at a level usually reserved for outdoor arenas.
    “Guys, come on, we’re smoking up,” the Terrorist said as casually as if he was calling us kids to the dinner table. Abbie and I sat down on the couch and the Terrorist took a huge hit and then passed it over to Abbie. I looked at Abbie, fully expecting her to leap up and give an impromptu sermon or at the very least a Bible quote to fit the situation, but she nonchalantly took the pipe and pulled in the smoke. I guess the New Testament doesn’t explicitly talk about “no freebasing” so she was good as far as her faith was concerned.
    The pipe was passed to me, but I only took one small hit, knowing cocaine was not always kind to me. I didn’twant to get out of control. Who knew if smoking it would make it stronger? Within five seconds, I was flying higher than the Goodyear blimp. I was so high—like holy crap high. All sorts of crazy, speedy thoughts zipped through my head like lightning striking—so damn genius but so darn fleeting, I could only watch them flash by without being able to write it down or even share it with anyone. If I could’ve harnessed the high, I’m pretty sure I could’ve penned a best-selling novel in less than ten minutes or at least read one.
    “Freebasing is the only way to do coke,” the Terrorist said as he exhaled a lungful of toxic vapors.
    This was 1986, so it was well after Richard Pryor had spent six weeks at a burn center after freebasing cocaine and then accidentally lighting himself on fire while doused with Bacardi 151. But (a) Up until that moment I didn’t know what we were doing was freebasing. And (b) Even if I had known, I still probably wouldn’t have worried about Richard Pryor’s bad outcome because, clearly, if you’re going to freebase cocaine, you have to use common sense and not just go dousing yourself with Bacardi or other flammable liquids. And it’s probably best to stay indoors. That way, if there is trouble, the fire department has an actual address to shoot for and not just “find the guy running down the street on fire.” But it was still clear that what we were doing wasn’t exactly mainstream drug use.
    Before I knew it, the fun buzz had worn off and I was passed the pipe again, so I did another hit, which was very possibly not the best idea given my low tolerance. I felt myjaw go completely rigid. My brain was still speeding along, thinking about a thousand thoughts a second, but I couldn’t feel my hands or face and since my jaw was sort of paralyzed, I couldn’t talk. Plus, the palpitating in my chest was so loud it was tough to concentrate on anything besides the fact that I was surely on the verge of a heart attack. Many years later, thanks to my medical training that consisted of watching every episode of ER, I diagnosed myself retroactively with tachycardia, the only cure for which is to stop freebasing cocaine immediately. Beth, Angela, Garth, and another random neighbor whose name I didn’t even know but who clearly had a sixth sense when drugs were in the vicinity were howling at some story Garth had just told about Gopher. They were sipping beer and smoking cigarettes like nothing was out of the ordinary, while I sat like a frozen statue—a monument to all that could go wrong when smoking illegal drugs. I never realized that I hate Garth. He’s phony and has weird bangs and he’s a damn extra, but the way he talks you’d think he gets picked up for work by a limo every day.
    Above the din in my head, I heard Beth talking excitedly about all the great money-making possibilities of becoming a coke dealer. Really? Turn our