The Overdose

It's 4:29 pm, which I know because that's what's showing on the microwave. I'm hunched over in my desk chair, chest on top of forearms on top of thighs. I've been asleep, though I don't know for how long. I remember seeing 3:20 flash by on the microwave, up and out of my vision.

Despite being folded in half, I feel somewhat rested, but more like a good airplane sleep than a real nap. I'm still not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be doing right now, but the phone rings and my wife asks about dinner and then a meeting and then I remember: I just got Squibbed.

Squib is a popular medible from Lunchbox Alchemy out of Bend. You're meant to eat a piece that looks like a miniaturized slice of cylindrical gum drop. Getting Squibbed can lead to dire side effects such as laziness, dizziness, hunger, dry mouth, thinking you're funnier than you are and taking a longer nap than planned.

I have ingested 100 milligrams of THC in a single sitting—three times as much as it would take to get me really, really high. A user with no tolerance needs about 12 milligrams to get high, and even the most experienced users get flat-out baked at 50. I have done this on purpose, to see what happens when you overdose on marijuana.

At 9:46 am on Wednesday, March 25, I peeled the sticker off the stack of four- to six-quarter-sized container, dug out the gummy Squib, gently peeled off the paper on the bottom and shoved the entire piece into my mouth.

I gagged. The Squib, likely to help prevent melting in warm temperatures, was more solid than any gummy bear or Sour Patch Kid. I felt like I was chewing sweet wax. After some throat clearing, the entire piece slid down toward my stomach. Time to wait.

How long until medibles take full effect? Most people say between an hour and two, depending on the amount of food in your stomach and how high your tolerance. While my tolerance isn't close to wake-and-bake-every-day levels, I figured my almost-nightly one or two bowls meant I'd be feeling the effects in 45 to 90 minutes. Until then, I waited.

While working to pass the time, I repeatedly congratulated myself for again not eating the paper wrapper, which I've done three times while taking small bites. I drank water. I finished my coffee. I prepped iTunes for what I assumed would be hours of movie watching. I went for a short run.

At 11 am, I could feel it taking hold. The back of my head got a little heavy, my skin felt warm and my blood was pumping.

At 11:30 am, I started to get loopy, sending texts to my family like this: "We buy the powder in a box because we're cheap and have to baby or pet proof anything. #humblebrag #didhejustuseahashtaginatext #yeshedid"

And tweeting inane shit like this: "hash tagging texts and using incorrect words this morning"

I thought it was funny.

At around 11:45 am, a full two hours after I ate the Squib, things got goofy. Knowing I needed an energy boost via caffeine and food, I made a plan to walk my dog to the store. This decision took me 15 minutes.

At noon, I found my shoes (I have 32 pairs, all in a shelf next to the door).

At 12:15 pm, I found the dog's collar hanging next to the door, like always.

At 12:25 pm, I found the dog in my 600-square-foot apartment.

At 12:27 pm, I took her outside.

At 12:31 pm, I walked with the dog toward Whole Foods, three blocks away.

At 12:35 pm, after having walked two blocks along East Burnside Street to 28th Avenue, I realized I didn't know where Whole Foods was (it's less than a block from there).

At 12:37 pm, I longed for a coffee but didn't want to risk crossing the street to Starbucks, and Crema was so far—one block south-—it seemed like a dream.

At 12:39 pm, I turned around and walked home, my pooch leading the way.

At 12:43 pm, I arrived back home, with nothing to show for my walk but a happy dog.

At 12:44 pm, I turned my camera on.

At 12:55 pm, I turned it off and imported the footage.

At 1:02 pm, I turned the camera back on.

At 1:07-ish pm, I turned it off.

At 3:20 pm, I think I looked up at the microwave, flashing up and out of my vision.

At 4:29 pm I woke up, which I know because that's what's showing on the microwave. I'm hunched over in my desk chair, chest on top of forearms on top of thighs. I've been asleep, though I don't know for how long.

Despite being folded in half, I feel somewhat rested, but more like a good airplane sleep than a real nap. I'm still not exactly sure what I'm still not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be doing right now, but the phone rings and my wife asks about dinner and then a meeting and then I remember: I just got Squibbed.

Wait, what?

I have overdosed. On marijuana.

This is not fun. You should not do this.

You won't die—you'd have to eat the equivalent of 300,000 Squibs in 15 minutes to get close to dying—but this is not fun.

It's 9 am on Thursday, nearly 24 hours after I got Squibbed. I am no longer high. I like this.

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The Overdose

Taking 100 milligrams of THC is not awesome.