Why Does My House Smell Like Marijuana?
Why does my house smell like marijuana?
You probably suspect I’m a pot smoker. That’s a reasonable assumption. Smoking pot inside my house would certainly explain the smell of marijuana lingering in my living room.
However, I do not smoke marijuana. I do not like marijuana. Nor do I like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Nolan I am.
See, marijuana just isn’t my thing. It’s not for me. Mind you, I’m not at all opposed to marijuana for others. To me, marijuana is kinda’ like green eggs and ham. I’m not going try eating green eggs and ham. And, I’m sure as shit not going to smoke them. But if someone else out there wants to indulge in green eggs and ham, then — be my guest. Who am I to deny you that which you deem pleasurable?
Fact is, I want marijuana and all drugs legalized. Marijuana. Cocaine. Meth. Heroin. Whatever hallucinagins the followers of Donald Trump are popping — legalize them all! Everything! Then, let Darwin’s Law to take its course.
To toke or not to take — that’s the question I stopped asking myself since my college days. And, my personal choice ever since then have been not to toke. Besides, I have way too many vices, already. After another grueling football season, I can’t afford another vice.
So, now you know my background. You must believe me when insisting I do not smoke marijuana. Yet for reasons unexplained, over the past two days there’s been this unmistakable and overwhelmingly powerful stench of a pot smell recurring inside my home. The odor is especially striking in mid-afternoon.
It’s most obvious inside my living room. It smells like a drug den. Last time I passed through the living room on the way to the kitchen, the pot stench was so powerful that my eyes crossed over. Then, I arrived in the kitchen and wolfed down two giant bags of Doritos. Okay, not really. I’m making that part up. I only ripped through one bag of Doritos, plus two Klondike bars.
Yet, there’s been no noticeable marijuana smell upstairs, nor the bedrooms, nor inside the garage. It’s only in the living room, which connects to the office where I type all my articles, including this one. There, I can smell it now!
This mystery calls for an investigation. Since it’s not me, I suspected that the neighbors might be smoking marijuana. However, I have not smelled the odor outside, no in the front or back yard. Where’s it coming from?
How’s it possible for a marijuana cloud to linger inside the house for an extended period of time with no apparent source from outside? Could someone living inside the Dalla Household secretly be a junkie?
Again, let’s examine the evidence and take a closer look at the suspects. Three people live inside our house. (1) I do not smoke. (2) Marieta does not smoke. Like me, she’s never even tried the herb. (3) That leaves Marieta’s mother as the only remaining suspect. She’s now in her mid-80’s and has lived with us for 15 years. Could mom be toking away in hiding behind closed doors? Probably not. She only speaks Romanian. So, I have a hard time believing mom could negotiate with a supplier in English. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt and agree that mom’s not the junkie.
There’s no apparent source of a pot smell from neighbors. No one living in the house smokes dope. What other explanation can there be? I wonder — could a giant marijuana cloud be sucked in through a vent and then become trapped inside the home? We’ve all heard of greenhouse gases. Can pot smoke do the same thing? It’s been windy here in Las Vegas these past few days. Would it be possible for marijuana smoke to travel a block (or more) away and get swept into a closed chamber through a vent? What other explanation is there? Sorry, I can’t think of one. Perhaps you can.
As far as using marijuana goes, perhaps there is an upside. Other writers have told me their writing improves when they smoke marijuana. I can’t comment upon that as a herbal inspiration, since I’ve never tried it. However, given the persistent odor inside my house right now and over these past few days, I have to wonder if I could now pass a drug test.
Alas, could inhaling marijuana smoke be a lifeline to better writing and bursts of creativity? I don’t know. It’s hard to think clearly when I’m surrounded by the stench of marijuana.
Indeed, life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
For life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”
A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.
So, we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?
Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives… and to the “good life”, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.
Writer’s Note: Some source material is taken from the writings of Hunter S. Thompson.
The inside of my house smells like marijuana and I can't explain why.