Why I Won't be Smoking Dope

Not sure if you've heard, but pot/weed/dope/marijuana is now legal in the state of Colorado. There are stores and growers sprouting up all over the place. (Sorry - couldn't resist.) Since over 50% of Americans apparently think that the stuff should be made legal, it's very probable that more and more states will follow Colorado.

Over the past few days I've been hearing quite a few experts weighing in on what the trends might be in terms of who smokes it. I was quite surprised to hear that soccer-moms might very well light up once they've managed to wrangle all the kids into bed. You know? Just to unwind; much in the way they currently have a glass of wine or three, but without the calories.

Really? Moms with kids? The ones that have to be up with the larks, and organized?

I can tell you one thing right now, I won't be joining those ranks. Not out of any moral righteousness on my part (although I can't stand the smell of the stuff) but because pot is known to affect memory. In fact , according to one expert, "It's fairly common for people who are using marijuana regularly to complain that their ability to think clearly is impaired - to remember, to organize their thoughts, to follow through with multi-tasking."

As it is, I quite often need something in the "other fridge" (you know, the twenty year old one no longer in the kitchen) so I walk there, passing through our family room to do so. Once in the family room, I'm struck by the sheer abundance of Lego bits and pieces scattered around so I immediately coerce the ten year old into picking it up off the floor, and go and get him a container to put them in. Then I make my way to the room where the old fridge is. I know that's where I need to be but I can't for the life of me remember why; I can't even go back to my original position, as you do,  because I allowed myself to be Lego-distracted on the way.

In a house like mine, with four floors, it's a miracle if I ever get to where I need to be. There are distractions like dirty socks, and shoes that need to be put away, at the bottom of every flight of stairs, turning any journey into a multi-tasking crusade. Inevitably, when I get to my bedroom on the top floor, I'm still laden down with stuff that should have been dropped off on the way, and obviously I can't remember why I needed to come upstairs in the first place.

No, I don't think I'll be joining the ranks of the toking moms while I still need to function at a basic level. It's bad enough as it is!