Kilfer
Bluelighter
Hey all,
Figured it's convenient on a member-input based counseling forum to know where members poppped from here's a condensed version of my last half-century. Born and raised in Vermont to a neurologist father and homemaker mother who died in a traffic accident when I was 4. When I was 6 Dad married the local hospital's head of the hospital's pharmacy whom I grew to be very close to and considered my real mother. Obviously I learned stuff from her. She passed away 2 years ago but Dad still leads the quiet, comfortable life of a retired college town physician/professor. Him and I still talk but we live worlds apart.
After high school I fled to college in California to escape the brutal winters of my home state. Dropped out after a few months owing to enthusiastic drug overindulgence. Follows a few years of menial job and living in beach huts spending paychecks on drugs, mostly meth and coke. Meth was cheap then so we had lots while coke was only reserved for "special occasions" which meant payday. A blurry several passed and following one particularly unpleasant near-OD meth binge I went to take my weekly bath in the ocean (which is cold in LA in case you don't know, once a week for a meth-head was considered compulsive cleanliness... by some) the frigid water shocked me into an epiphany: my goal in life was to enjoy my life and I sure as Hell wasn't enjoying living in a fetid one-room hut surrounded by people talking about their next score all day. It also helped that my father had come in town to "end this damn joke" and take me home to clean up. I only stayed a month home then managed to enroll in an upstate NY college. I continued to use stims but at moderate dosage.
Managed to complete my undergraduate degree in Computer Science then completed my MBA. I was more stunned than proud, I was afraid that drugs had carried me there... and they had in a sense. BY then I had lofty goals of running corporations one day and accepted jobs that I considered proper stepping stones. But I disliked the mindset I discovered. Upper-management types wer mostly shallow people with overinflated egos and very few happy people around them. When your career is what you are then mere people don't count. Not your colleagues, not your family, and certainly not your "minions". They couldn't be wrong, they couldn't be reasoned with, you had to laugh at their stupid jokes, pretend to get drunk with them in snotty hotels (I hate booze), butt-liking full-time.
I lost two jobs: one to stimulant-fueled argument with a client and one to a meth binge that put me in hospital for 6 weeks.
When I got out from hospital I had decided that even though I would still have to learn my living in management I would do it by doing what I had learned in school instead of licking butts to climb the corporate ladder gauged on social skills rather than professional proficiency. I attained my current mid-level management assignment after a series of professional-level postions. Those that give you a crammed closed office shared with a photocopier and janitorial supplies... I sometimes daydreamed about certains female employees, their derriere and that Canon machine... butt prints... never happened of course
I had a series of semi-serious relationships but like many men on stims preoccupied with work issues I paid less attention to these women than they deserved and had to part with them in favor of short-term sex-fueled trysts with like-minded women found on dating sites in the "casual encounters" sections. Most of these were married with no carnal benefits but also no intention to leave Hubby on mere potency or indifference-related grounds, because they felt "safe" in that situation. Safe as in complacent, a form of unhappiness that eventually got on my nerves. This situation was going nowhere, after a while fooling around a guy yearns for a companion not just a bedmate. Found one, still with her after 7 years. We fight, we reconcile, we have sex, we laugh, we sleep. Happy is that, happy is not a million bucks a year.
Now I have a large closed corner office with windows and no photocopier. I even have a non-shared secretary whose ideas about efficiency are even better honed than mine. We're in tune. We're a proficient team.
Note about my looks. I do not look the part of what I do but I don't give a shit. People tell me all the time, even strangers, that I look "oh my God dude... you look just like The Dude in The Big Lebowsky, uncanny! ". After seeing the movie I had to admit a certain physical resemblance but I don't wear a bathrobe at the grocery store, I don't drink White Russians, I don't even smoke pot! And don't start me on bowling, especially not with gun-wielding partners.
But as I look like him I'm expected to act cool, which suits me fine. I like cool, I am cool... I think. I know I am considered the coolest department head at the firm I work for so there must be a reason for that other than being the one with the longest hair and goatee... the only one come to think of it. My people are not "minions" they are my team. I try my best to get to know them personally as friends. This is not the Army and I'm not a Battalion commander. I need their support and I must earn it. Goes both ways. I'm there if one needs me, the problem is usually solvable. When you have their support you also have their respect. When my office door is closed no one comes in and most of the time it is closed.
But when it's open... I don't have a bottle of rye in my drawer but I have benzos... and a few trusted people I know like to pop one when the work is done if I'm still there. I start at 6 am and my last report is expected at 4. It's done at 3 and then I leave. Sometimes I linger with the door open and a select few heed the invite. I discreetly hand a few Ativans, I'm not demented enough to ply them temmies not knowing what their tolerance is. The risk of being snitched is always superseded by the risk of being caught breaking the rules together. Learned that in college believe it or not. These 3 peoples are key employees with every reason to keep quiet. Funny thing is my boss would not care a bit that I give them prescription meds if I ever told her it was for the purpose of extracting useful scuttlebutt about the department's buzz. Kiss my ass Mrs B.
Besides, those benzos are prescribed to me legally. I use them to offset vasoconstrictor effects of stimulants, the worst untoward effect. Strangely, few people know that benzos are vasodilators, including many GP's. And yet the information is there, but requires digging a few pages on "that" site from which we can't post links here. In the middle drawer I keep my stims, carry them always with me. Stimulants still occupy a large place in my life, I owe them a lot beginning with respect. I use them at moderate, oft titrated dosage at work. I use MDMA-like RC's to party in Canada, since they are illegal here. I have very extensive experience in their use and misuse, and I stick with the law, with which I am clean except for a sealed juvee record (see note at bottom). Helps to have physicians as friends I admit.
I spend about 6 months a year in Montreal, Canada, training management trainees at our Canadian branch HQ. This year will be my third on a 7-year commitment. I love my assignment there, I love that very cosmopolitan, easy-going city where drug regulations are loosely applied if at all. Unlike other New Englanders the vast majority of Vermonters live near the Canadian border. We are with "the city" because when you're in Burlignton "the city" means Montreal. Heck "our" baseball team was the Expos! Dad took me to the "Big O" stadium over 60 times to see the greatest NBL legends play. Winters in Montreal where everything is buried under snow 3 months are nothing to repel Vermonter. We are used to get worse. Plus there's a tropical forest in the lobby of the company-paid condo complex I live in. Winter? What winter?
My goal in life was to enjoy life. I have achieved that and as for those annoyed by the thought of this annoyingly jovial person interfering with their objective of making their entourage feel like shit I offer this bit of advice: fuck off.
Y'all have a nice day now
Note: as mentioned above I have a sealed juvee record. Through my stepmom's connections I had obtained summer work at the worst possible place for me: a hospital pharmacy. I was 16. I did the huge mistake of "borrowing" 8 Nembutal capsules (the powerful short-acting barbiturate pentobarbital) to distribute to my 3 best buddies and I for two trips, but I only gave them one each to begin with, with the second scheduled for the day after. But even after a single cap one kid got so high he told his parents about and a deputy showed at our door and arrested me (still high as a kite) hauling me to County Jail. I hurled insanities all night so much so that others in the drunk tank had me hauled away to seclusion so they could get some sleep. The day after initial charges of attempted manslaughter were brought up against me owing to the fact that taking two of these pills could have killed us 4. This charge was dropped after I was able to produce the 4 remaining capsules from the stuff taken from my pockets at the sheriff's. Charges of possession with intent to traffic of a Controlled Substance were also dropped because the prosecutor claimed he could never get a Grand Jury to endorse it "not enough pills, and he gave or intended to give them away without receiving compensation" he said. In the end I was convicted in Juvenile Court of Simple Possession of a Schedule II Controlled Substance for Personal Use and received time served because I had been locked up in the adult section of the County Correctional Center for 9 days and that was deemed abusive. I also had to pay a $100 fine or served 10 hours of community. Dad refused to lend me the money so I joined a loosely guarded troupe of kids picking trash along the highway for 3 or4 hours and that was it. I don't care writing this here because this record is forever sealed. Now my stepmom she forgave me but she was mad at me all summer long. One thing I appreciated most was that no further surveillance was placed upon me when I returned to work (yes I was reinstated on her insistence) because she knew damn well I had learned my lesson. And I had indeed. Oh I did continue to "experiment" on myself here and there while at work but never took anything out of there again, not even an Aspirin caplet. But it's what my memory registered that summer that was the real golden nugget: there are so many interesting legal drugs in America that the greatest asset for Aspiring Stoner was to learn what to say to a doctor to have him/her write a script that would open the Gates of Delerium to the young enterprising mind. One last remark. The only physician that I personally know who has never written a script for me is my father. He had no home office and his clinic did not treat children in those days, kids including those with neurological problems were the sole responsibility of pediatricians. Besides it's a tenet of the trade that doctors don't treat family members, and that's a damn good idea
Figured it's convenient on a member-input based counseling forum to know where members poppped from here's a condensed version of my last half-century. Born and raised in Vermont to a neurologist father and homemaker mother who died in a traffic accident when I was 4. When I was 6 Dad married the local hospital's head of the hospital's pharmacy whom I grew to be very close to and considered my real mother. Obviously I learned stuff from her. She passed away 2 years ago but Dad still leads the quiet, comfortable life of a retired college town physician/professor. Him and I still talk but we live worlds apart.
After high school I fled to college in California to escape the brutal winters of my home state. Dropped out after a few months owing to enthusiastic drug overindulgence. Follows a few years of menial job and living in beach huts spending paychecks on drugs, mostly meth and coke. Meth was cheap then so we had lots while coke was only reserved for "special occasions" which meant payday. A blurry several passed and following one particularly unpleasant near-OD meth binge I went to take my weekly bath in the ocean (which is cold in LA in case you don't know, once a week for a meth-head was considered compulsive cleanliness... by some) the frigid water shocked me into an epiphany: my goal in life was to enjoy my life and I sure as Hell wasn't enjoying living in a fetid one-room hut surrounded by people talking about their next score all day. It also helped that my father had come in town to "end this damn joke" and take me home to clean up. I only stayed a month home then managed to enroll in an upstate NY college. I continued to use stims but at moderate dosage.
Managed to complete my undergraduate degree in Computer Science then completed my MBA. I was more stunned than proud, I was afraid that drugs had carried me there... and they had in a sense. BY then I had lofty goals of running corporations one day and accepted jobs that I considered proper stepping stones. But I disliked the mindset I discovered. Upper-management types wer mostly shallow people with overinflated egos and very few happy people around them. When your career is what you are then mere people don't count. Not your colleagues, not your family, and certainly not your "minions". They couldn't be wrong, they couldn't be reasoned with, you had to laugh at their stupid jokes, pretend to get drunk with them in snotty hotels (I hate booze), butt-liking full-time.
I lost two jobs: one to stimulant-fueled argument with a client and one to a meth binge that put me in hospital for 6 weeks.
When I got out from hospital I had decided that even though I would still have to learn my living in management I would do it by doing what I had learned in school instead of licking butts to climb the corporate ladder gauged on social skills rather than professional proficiency. I attained my current mid-level management assignment after a series of professional-level postions. Those that give you a crammed closed office shared with a photocopier and janitorial supplies... I sometimes daydreamed about certains female employees, their derriere and that Canon machine... butt prints... never happened of course
I had a series of semi-serious relationships but like many men on stims preoccupied with work issues I paid less attention to these women than they deserved and had to part with them in favor of short-term sex-fueled trysts with like-minded women found on dating sites in the "casual encounters" sections. Most of these were married with no carnal benefits but also no intention to leave Hubby on mere potency or indifference-related grounds, because they felt "safe" in that situation. Safe as in complacent, a form of unhappiness that eventually got on my nerves. This situation was going nowhere, after a while fooling around a guy yearns for a companion not just a bedmate. Found one, still with her after 7 years. We fight, we reconcile, we have sex, we laugh, we sleep. Happy is that, happy is not a million bucks a year.
Now I have a large closed corner office with windows and no photocopier. I even have a non-shared secretary whose ideas about efficiency are even better honed than mine. We're in tune. We're a proficient team.
Note about my looks. I do not look the part of what I do but I don't give a shit. People tell me all the time, even strangers, that I look "oh my God dude... you look just like The Dude in The Big Lebowsky, uncanny! ". After seeing the movie I had to admit a certain physical resemblance but I don't wear a bathrobe at the grocery store, I don't drink White Russians, I don't even smoke pot! And don't start me on bowling, especially not with gun-wielding partners.
But as I look like him I'm expected to act cool, which suits me fine. I like cool, I am cool... I think. I know I am considered the coolest department head at the firm I work for so there must be a reason for that other than being the one with the longest hair and goatee... the only one come to think of it. My people are not "minions" they are my team. I try my best to get to know them personally as friends. This is not the Army and I'm not a Battalion commander. I need their support and I must earn it. Goes both ways. I'm there if one needs me, the problem is usually solvable. When you have their support you also have their respect. When my office door is closed no one comes in and most of the time it is closed.
But when it's open... I don't have a bottle of rye in my drawer but I have benzos... and a few trusted people I know like to pop one when the work is done if I'm still there. I start at 6 am and my last report is expected at 4. It's done at 3 and then I leave. Sometimes I linger with the door open and a select few heed the invite. I discreetly hand a few Ativans, I'm not demented enough to ply them temmies not knowing what their tolerance is. The risk of being snitched is always superseded by the risk of being caught breaking the rules together. Learned that in college believe it or not. These 3 peoples are key employees with every reason to keep quiet. Funny thing is my boss would not care a bit that I give them prescription meds if I ever told her it was for the purpose of extracting useful scuttlebutt about the department's buzz. Kiss my ass Mrs B.
Besides, those benzos are prescribed to me legally. I use them to offset vasoconstrictor effects of stimulants, the worst untoward effect. Strangely, few people know that benzos are vasodilators, including many GP's. And yet the information is there, but requires digging a few pages on "that" site from which we can't post links here. In the middle drawer I keep my stims, carry them always with me. Stimulants still occupy a large place in my life, I owe them a lot beginning with respect. I use them at moderate, oft titrated dosage at work. I use MDMA-like RC's to party in Canada, since they are illegal here. I have very extensive experience in their use and misuse, and I stick with the law, with which I am clean except for a sealed juvee record (see note at bottom). Helps to have physicians as friends I admit.
I spend about 6 months a year in Montreal, Canada, training management trainees at our Canadian branch HQ. This year will be my third on a 7-year commitment. I love my assignment there, I love that very cosmopolitan, easy-going city where drug regulations are loosely applied if at all. Unlike other New Englanders the vast majority of Vermonters live near the Canadian border. We are with "the city" because when you're in Burlignton "the city" means Montreal. Heck "our" baseball team was the Expos! Dad took me to the "Big O" stadium over 60 times to see the greatest NBL legends play. Winters in Montreal where everything is buried under snow 3 months are nothing to repel Vermonter. We are used to get worse. Plus there's a tropical forest in the lobby of the company-paid condo complex I live in. Winter? What winter?
My goal in life was to enjoy life. I have achieved that and as for those annoyed by the thought of this annoyingly jovial person interfering with their objective of making their entourage feel like shit I offer this bit of advice: fuck off.
Y'all have a nice day now
Note: as mentioned above I have a sealed juvee record. Through my stepmom's connections I had obtained summer work at the worst possible place for me: a hospital pharmacy. I was 16. I did the huge mistake of "borrowing" 8 Nembutal capsules (the powerful short-acting barbiturate pentobarbital) to distribute to my 3 best buddies and I for two trips, but I only gave them one each to begin with, with the second scheduled for the day after. But even after a single cap one kid got so high he told his parents about and a deputy showed at our door and arrested me (still high as a kite) hauling me to County Jail. I hurled insanities all night so much so that others in the drunk tank had me hauled away to seclusion so they could get some sleep. The day after initial charges of attempted manslaughter were brought up against me owing to the fact that taking two of these pills could have killed us 4. This charge was dropped after I was able to produce the 4 remaining capsules from the stuff taken from my pockets at the sheriff's. Charges of possession with intent to traffic of a Controlled Substance were also dropped because the prosecutor claimed he could never get a Grand Jury to endorse it "not enough pills, and he gave or intended to give them away without receiving compensation" he said. In the end I was convicted in Juvenile Court of Simple Possession of a Schedule II Controlled Substance for Personal Use and received time served because I had been locked up in the adult section of the County Correctional Center for 9 days and that was deemed abusive. I also had to pay a $100 fine or served 10 hours of community. Dad refused to lend me the money so I joined a loosely guarded troupe of kids picking trash along the highway for 3 or4 hours and that was it. I don't care writing this here because this record is forever sealed. Now my stepmom she forgave me but she was mad at me all summer long. One thing I appreciated most was that no further surveillance was placed upon me when I returned to work (yes I was reinstated on her insistence) because she knew damn well I had learned my lesson. And I had indeed. Oh I did continue to "experiment" on myself here and there while at work but never took anything out of there again, not even an Aspirin caplet. But it's what my memory registered that summer that was the real golden nugget: there are so many interesting legal drugs in America that the greatest asset for Aspiring Stoner was to learn what to say to a doctor to have him/her write a script that would open the Gates of Delerium to the young enterprising mind. One last remark. The only physician that I personally know who has never written a script for me is my father. He had no home office and his clinic did not treat children in those days, kids including those with neurological problems were the sole responsibility of pediatricians. Besides it's a tenet of the trade that doctors don't treat family members, and that's a damn good idea
Last edited:
