My dad found my bong.

What a way to wake up this morning, with my dad staring down at me and saying, “WHAT IS THAT?” and me realizing Leela was sitting on the wrong side of the dresser again.

Except this time, my dad came into my room to grab any glasses or plates to wash. And so he found my piece of glass.

Trying to get my dad to stop pacing around the house talking about how I was going to prison was probably the most difficult part. I admit, I sort of weaseled my way out of it (“oh it’s not mine!”), but I’m not going to go out in the street and smash Leela on the side of the road. So I pretended to walk “to a friend’s” and just walked back, empty-handed.

Upon coming back, I attempted to have a rational conversation about weed smoking, but he would mostly brush off the things I had to say. What else could  expect from him if he wasn’t even aware that when I was “dropping it off”, I walked up and down the street with an empty bag?

…I’m not going to worry about it too much.

The first words that came out of my mouth weren’t exactly intelligent ones, but they’re my first words of 2012:

“Please do not overestimate the severity of the situation.”