Edibles. Why I Can't Enjoy Pot. WARNING: Includes Spoilers About My Brain!

      Okay. I admit it. I must accept a bitter mantle thrust upon me in High School: I am a lightweight. I can not maintain. I am paranoid and I can't deal with being stoned. So branded, I was relegated to being the last to get the bong hit and the first to go home, or be helped into the back yard to lie on his back in the suburban grass and hang on, waiting for the wrath of a vengeful god. I had at least one bad experience in High School with PCP  laced pot- the infamous Led Zeppelin concert of 1977 - which for lack of a better description was sort of like Hieronymus Bosch painting set in the quaint parking garage type structure of Seattle's beloved Kingdome. Whoa, that was strange.  It was uncomfortable. I am a sort of weird guy anyway- I sometimes wonder if my "normal" is what others see stoned- My imagination is filled with conspiracy and orthodox christian imagery (I once saw the face of Jesus in the acoustic ceiling popcorn of my family's rec room after smoking hash oil in the 70's- try just casually smoking a doobie after that...) Generally I am wrapped a little too tight. I am not socially easy to be with. Being high makes me yet more awkward in the extreme, so I wholly accept my High School brand. I guess I have no choice.
      Like many people I voted for the legalization of pot in Washington. Why not? My 90 year old parents voted for it too. Many people enjoy it, some need it and may get benefit from medical uses.  I get weird. My favorite human and love of my life, L can't smoke- she has asthma - and she has a certain amount of chronic pain and certainly has the universal liberal post 2016 depression to deal with - so we visited our local pot store.  We settled on edibles. - Weird little THC breath mint slips that frankly did nothing for me. I went back and got gummies- mandarin flavored one inch square treats that I was warned to eat only half to see if they worked for me. They are crappy as a candy, but mystic adventure to hell if you over indulge. Of course the half I ate did nothing,and  after 45 minutes, so I ate the rest and SHABAM! I was immediately transported back to the Kingdome 1977. Unpleasant but easier to handle as a decrepit old guy. I spent the evening- a work night before an out of town job, being outwardly weird around my wife and son. I was on deck of a tempest tossed, sinking mental frigate, drowning in my own ocean. Unlike having a drink which just makes me stupid, pot is a mind bending and bizarre world of intellectual self examination and macro focus introspection to me. It's like looking at things through a set of binoculars, or a microscope- very interesting but for fucks sake it's hard to walk around with the damn thing on your face. It's also hard to remember to breathe, anxiety being a running joke in my personality anyway. I watch friends smoke this shit like chimneys but I couldn't do that. I am a little sad that I can't join the social world of pot, that I can't make use of it's gifts, but it's not for me. I suppose my over active, sometimes dormant creative side comes out and interacts with my deformed anxiety prone psyche, and the combination, while not lethal is toxic enough to avoid.