In one recent dream I actually smoked a joint and got high, feeling all the things I should to the point that I thought maybe I shouldn't be driving and then got all paranoid, worrying about how my baby would grumble and disapprove or, as I seemed to be on the way to work, what I should do so my coworkers wouldn't notice anything amiss. Of course I did not feel stoned when anxiety woke me.
In another, more recent, dream I smoked something (a bowl full of little, glossy, yellow and green spheres, that appeared pharma-grade, like those that fall out of the opening capsule in the television commercial) that I expected to have a DMT-like effect of immediate, profound, perhaps out-of-body, consciousness change, sitters and all attentively present. I held the disposable lighter flame to the bowl of smoking, subliming and melting drug at the end of a long glass pipe and drew in the smoke, which tasted sweet, like opium with a sprinkle of molasses and melting plastic, then fell through the back of my head, into my real bed, where I awoke, in this consensual world where we, Dear Reader, agree we are, sat up, and deliberately looked around, thinking, that must've been the strangest drug ever!, for a moment, before falling back asleep and resuming the dream to report the trip to my friends and sitters.