The high road – An Irishwoman’s Diary on Medicinal Cannabis

Last time I got stoned was by accident, I swear . . . I was at a Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park, listening to Loudon Wainwright. A vendor in pink frills passed with a tray of chocolate truffles. For $2.50 they looked delicious and couldn’t be spiked, could they?

Alice-in-Wonderland-like, I took a bite and felt okay. And ate more. Big mistake. It’s the notorious no-no with pot “edibles” that happens only to idiots. Unlike swifter-acting “joints,” edibles absorb slowly and erratically. Some time later, I was kisser-down in the grass and a) paralysed, b) paranoid, and c) feeling so silly. I couldn’t locate my head, let alone my phone.

The same thing happened to journalist Maureen Dowd, who intentionally ate a “magic” bar in Denver, where legal edibles are all the rage. “I barely made it from desk to bed . . . I was curled up in a hallucinatory state.”

– Read the entire article at Irish Times.