When I drive stoned, I drive slow. I'm just not in a big hurry, and if a guy wants to pass me I'll pull over into the turnout (and maybe take another sip off the bubbler). To this day, I've never woken up to find a dead innocent child stuck to the grill of the company van. That is irrefutable evidence that smoking ganja and driving is perfectly manageable. Drinking and driving is another story. Pound a 40 ouncer or 3 of Old English 800 Malt Liquor, and you're probably not going to be driving in the slow lane.
I don't drive much anymore. I walk and ride my bike and take the trains and buses. I shrink my brain each and every day with marijuana. We only use 10% of our brain capacity, and I've merely consolidated the active centers of my brain through the process of huffing down enormous bowls of kindbud sprinkled with hash. My goal is to ultimately factor down to four total braincells, each of them responsible for a quarter of my responsibilities.
When I used to drive stoned (and this is way back in the 70s and 80s) I would drive super slow for awhile until I realized how slow I was going then I would speed up to the point that I was rushing then I go back to slow mode. Pot has a way of making idiots of otherwise smart people.
Pot has a way of reminding people that life is extremely interesting. That's also why people drink. It's good to change the channel once in a while.
Tonight, I'm doing data entry on the computer at the office. I have to input all the data from last weekend's business endeavors. And then I have to update the website. That sounds boring, but it's actually about to get interesting, because I'm about to fire up some NorCal doobonabage and blow it out the window, and then I'm going to drink the last of these Sierra Nevada Torpedos. And then finally, I'll either walk home or ride the bus. It isn't supposed to rain until Thursday.