|Ah ... yes ... contact highs!|
It Was the Darn Glue!
For years ... when I was much younger, I built plastic model kits. LOTS of 'em. Cars, planes, military, science fiction, Aurora monster kits, etc, I was into all of it. Wasn't very good at it but build them I did.
When I was actually building them I enjoyed it immensly. There was something about the actual construction of the kits themselves that seemed to compel me to go on to the next kit. Maybe it was the satisfaction in making something out of a seeming jumble of parts. The feeling of accomplishment. Perhaps the "zen" of the puzzle. Wasn't quite sure what it was, but all I knew was the feeling, the mild euphoria, the ... wonder of it all ... Went away when I was done with building whatever it was I was gluing together at the time. The only way I was going to get that wonderful feeling back was to go on & get another bunch of pieces cemented together.
One day ... it hit me as a gradual revelation. It was the dang glue! Now, I had always assembled them in a ventilated area. Or at least as much ventilation as a large cellar room would have. Still there were fumes. A lot. I never liked the smell of model glue so it wasn't like I was sniffing it on purpose or "huffing" it out of a paper bag. It was with that realization I quit the hobby. Knowing the actual "enjoyment" of something was a false pleasure, I left & never went back.
I remember a "contact high" from wacky weed. Some friends were indulging so I left early. Not early enough it seems. Before driving, I sat in the car for about a half hour before "it" went away. Gotta be careful. Stuff can sneak up on ya ...
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