I’m declaring war on marijuana. Not because it’s illegal, not because I’m worried about the welfare of the average American. I’m waging war on weed because I’m paying consequences that I wasn’t prepared to pay. I’m paying those consequences not because I smoke pot but because someone else in my life does.

You’d think that being from Colorado, I’d be a fan. I’m not. Last year, when the state voted to make medicinal use of the drug legal I was among the 32 percent who opposed it. Like, I said. I’m going to battle.

They said that the true Colorado gold isn’t buried in the mountains to be mined out, it’s growing on the surface up in Boulder and anywhere else you can think to look. It’s everywhere. You have to pay $10 to park your car in order to ski the back bowls of Vail. That is, unless you keep a spare joint in your glove compartment to hand the parking lot attendant on your way out at the end of the day.

You also have to wonder about a place like Red Rocks, the best amphitheater to grace the music world, if you ask anyone from Colorado. They make you pour out opened bottles of water. You can bring fruit in to the show, but it has to be sliced so the vodka will drain out. However, I guarantee they’re not checking your brownies at the door and telling you to throw them out.

I know what you’re thinking. This chick just needs to chill out, grow up and maybe take a hit. No thanks. Marijuana has hit me upside the head too many times already, and I’ve never smoked an ounce.

Here’s my beef with the entire unspoken pastime of America. I don’t dislike those of you who think that marijuana is the way to go. It’s just not for me. As long as you send the music my way, be my guest. I hope you have one hell of a good time.

The problem is, it’s not that simple. You can’t keep marijuana out of your life just because you choose not to use it. It’s a social drug, and it has social effect. You either smoke it or you don’t. It’s some sort of a secret club that you’re either a member of or you’re not. Unfortunately, the club forms slowly and suddenly you realize that you’re not a member. It’s Friday night, and your friends didn’t call you. It’s not that they have anything against you. You don’t like to get high, so you conflict with their evening plans. Chances are you’ve even told them “no thanks” once or twice, and they were fine with it.

So why am I complaining? I’m complaining because I’m the one who ends up paying the price-me and everyone else who’s standing at the base of the tree house wondering why our friends don’t want to come out and play. I wish that the D.A.R.E officers had told us that “just saying no” often means saying goodbye to friends, significant others and family members.

Marijuana kills relationships. The worst part is that there’s not a damned thing anyone except the potheads can do about it.

Tina Barber is a senior studying English.