Last mushrooms I had were a bit strong.
Spent the peak of it flailing around on the lawn, dribbling on things.

Once I regained motor control, I had to retire to my bed in the holiday house we were in, wrapped myself in a duvet, then spent about 6 hours in the following internal loop:

"Don't want to waste these shrooms."
"Should get outside and enjoy them."
"Members of the public exist outside."
"Don't like members of the public."
"Not going outside."
"Hope I can go outside by Monday."
"Work on Monday."
"What's the point in work if I waste these shrooms?"

Obviously, that's the English translation... the original was in the language of raw fear, panic and confusion.
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Thu 6 Mar 2014, 17:17, Reply)