So I wake up on Superbowl Sunday 2006 at 12:30 to the most beautiful January day Providence, RI has ever seen and my boy knocking on my door. He moves nugget in my dorm, so I expect a quick wake-up bowl session down the hall to kick off the days events. I amble down the hall in my slippers to find a gang of people in his room, wide-eyed, giddy...the way people act when their friend has just picked up a zip of boomers. By quarter of eleven I was back in the room with thirty bucks and a bottle of blue powerade, and sat down for a hearty breakfast of sports drink and psylocilibin. Some others in my circle went about brewing some tea and scooping up some peanut butter for theirs, but i've always found that piling the shit in your mouth and chasing it with a tasty elixir does the trick...hits much quicker too. No more than 22 minutes later I found myself creeping down the hallway to the bathroom, sliding cautiously along the wall so as to avoid anyone who may approach me. It became apparent that I was about to slip into a loop I had never experienced before.
I always need a good half an hour to myself directly after consumption to gather my thoughts and get my life together, so I grabbed a towel from my room and slipped into the shower. If you've ever taken a shower on shrooms, you know that it is the absolute best way to begin a trip, even before visuals really spark up. It completely relaxes you and places you in a clean state of mind...not to mention water becomes an almost divine entity. It also takes my mind off of the distinctly "shroomy" feeling in the pit of my stomach. By the time I dry myself off and open the curtain, the poisoning is complete and i'm officially gone. The hallway I walk in to is easily four times the length it was prior to my shower, and the far end is gently swaying back and forth, causing the whole corridor to look like a swinging rope bridge. When I finally burst back into my room I am hysterically laughing and can't wait to be reunited with my cracked out friends down the hall. Before I head down to my boys room I check the mirror and make sure I'm dressed sufficiently strange.
The scene i descend upon deviates slightly from what i was expecting. Replacing the bright, happy, hallucinating festival I had imagined was a dark room occupied by two of my closest friends; one in the midst of a mental breakdown consisting of delusional thoughts that he had been discovered as a dealer, the other trying to console his roommate but struggling due to the fact he was tripping. Although I wanted to help, I couldn't relate to his plight and found that his face was twisting into fascinating expressions. I backtracked to the hallway again and decided to venture out into the unusually warm weather. I fought to keep my grasp on reality down all three flights of stairs, as each step I approached shifted side to side or disintegrated all together like some menacing stairwell in a Mario castle. Upon reaching my destination, a dirty bench in front of my dorm, I slumped down and stretched my legs as far in front of me as possible and lit up a black and mild. Because of the wave of heavy visuals I was submerged in at the time I didnt bother to comtemplate what i must have looked like to a passerby: a lanky 6'4" kid in shorts, flipflops and a buttondown shirt sprawled out on a bench in the middle of winter with a dutchie and dime-sized pupils. Finally able to relax and shut out every other possible stimulus around me, I focused on the smoke swirling out from my lips and "Knocking on Heaven's Door" drifting across the quad from a nearby window. My mind slipped into an intense daze, completely oblivious to conscious reality. Watching imaginary leaves springing out of the branches of trees in my vicinity and seeing those same branches leap into action, reacing up into the air, I came to peace with every possible aspect of my life and never felt more in place and level. The ground directly in front of me spun like oil poured into water and heaved up and down like swells on the ocean. The bench beneath me ceased to exist, and i couldnt even feel the smoke entering my mouth and throat...just the breeze. I could feel every molecule of air on every inch of my body, in between every hair on my legs. For the fifteen minutes of solitude i found with my dutchie, I had the most enlightening and uplifting experience with shrooms I've ever had. I reached a peace of mind separate from any I had ever obtained and felt that instead of sitting on a bench on the PC campus quad I was floating in the spiritual counterpart of that setting, enjoying the essence and beauty of my surroundings instead of the objects themselves.
By the time kickoff came around I had lost interest in the Steelers and Seahawks and just wanted to get baked and go to sleep, but the weeks that followed that sunday were devoid of conflict and unhappiness. Shrooms had never before spilled over into my life, but the effects of this batch lasted well beyond the 6 hours of craziness. Who won the superbowl again?