"She had not imagined that such a multiplication of wakefulness was possible; her whole past was re-enacting itself at a hundred different points of conciousness. Where was the drug that could still this legion of insurgent nerves? The sense of exhaustion would have been sweet compared to this shrill beat of activities, but weariness had dropped from her as though some cruel stimulant had been forced into her veins."
-The House Of Mirth, by Edith Wharton
amen, this is the story of my life when ive run out of weed. couldnt have said it better myself.