I learned to code on LSD.
Raves in DC’s shipyards would go until 4am. My friends and I would dose, and dance, and afterwards, drive (don’t do this) to a friend’s house for an after-party in the suburbs to come down from our trip. There’s no sleep on acid. But sunrise is spectactular. Shortly after, I’d drive to work.
This was a few years before the tech bubble burst. I was the only person from my prep school’s graduating class not to go to college. Instead, I partied. I got a “job” with a friend of my Dad’s. He was a lawyer, building software for lawyers. I’d show up in party pants, a visor, my eyes still dilated; I'd sit down next to him and watch as he fumbled around in Visual Basic. He’d clomp a 3-inch thick Microsoft Access book onto the table and ask me to look up syntax or how to do something. I’d offer suggestions over his shoulder. Until one day, he stood up and said, “you do it.”