I COMMENCE MY DAY WITH MARIJUANA

I have a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. It's nine. In my office I reach into the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out the stash. Marijuana accelerates me. Sometimes it fills me with too much energy and I want to drink and smoke, but that is part of a late afternoon spree.

I sit in the backyard and puff. A chachalaca tightropes along the back fence. Summers in South Texas are tolerable if they're spent in air-conditioning. With no Gulf breezes, the late mornings are the worst time of day. The humidity is asphyxiating. The body isn't prepared for the change after sleeping all night in a cool house.
I inhale and the rush invigorates me. How many days in my life have been punctuated by pot? My love for baseball infatuates me with stats. I've been smoking dope for 50 years. If I've smoked 100 times annually, I've been stoned 5,000 times.
I have convinced myself marijuana is more positive than negative mentally, but I have no idea about the long-term effects physically. Has it lowered my stress level, thus lessening the risk of a heart attack or a stroke, or has it weakened my lungs, thus increasing my susceptibility to lung cancer or emphysema?
I've lived 74 years, which is longer than 99% of the people who have trudged across this planet. I'm not dying tomorrow. But a descendant may read this passage and I will have been dead a century.

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