Change is inevitable, but growth is a choice. This may just help me make up my mind.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

On Day 8....

So for those of you who don't know, I have finally mustered up the courage (and the $60) to purchase a heinous, but rather effective, pharmaceutical drug known as Zyban and attempt the daunting task of qutting smoking! Yup, I've had ten wonderful long years with my little friend, but as the saying goes: all good things must end. Just Kidding (sort of). It's true that I will miss parts of smoking, nicotine being a major contributer to that needy feeling. There were many good times in my life that are heavily associated with smoking: playing cards with my girlfriends, good gossip convo's with co-workers, walking squares with the boys in jail and reaching a common ground with the hellion teens I've worked with. But I finally came to the realization that I do not need a white tube packed full of flesh eating chemicals to do those things. So, with the help of my addiction's master fiance, I embarked on the next chapter of my life....

Three weeks of Pure Hell (as I now like to refer to it). However, it should be made clear that this is merely a pit stop on my road to recovery and leading a healthy, whole life once again(like the one I had before I left the continent and was evilly influenced by German rocker teens to whom smoking was a religion.) But that's neither here nor there. I lit the first fag and I take full responsibility for my addiction (spoken like a true AA/NA junkie).

But let me tell you a little about Zyban: the wonder drug that has helped millions of people world wide regain control of their lives and quit smoking with confidence, joy and ease.........

It's the Devil! Smoking was not nerely as bad for me as these little chemical packed purple pills that alter reality, making you a starving crazed insomniac. That's why they work. They mess you up so much that you don't remember what smoking is. Your brain's like "wow dude, what the hell are you putting into my lungs", while your other brain's like "wow dude, I need more, I NEED MORE!!!!!!!

Granted the ammonia, pesticides, acids, tar and other nasty chemicals that smoking leaves in the pink capillaries of your lungs is horrible and has long-term effects, but this is just evil.
You know how some pharmaceutical drugs tell you not drive heavy machinery, or mix alcohol while taking the medicine? Well, Zyban should read: "Don't leave your home, attempt to have any meaningful conversations, DEFINATELY DO NOT GO TO WORK, and don't make any important decisions while taking Zyban". And that's all fine and dandy if you only have to take the damn things for a few days, but they recommend 12 weeks to 6 months. I have already made an ass out of myself on numerous occasions and have had to call in "sick" to work, but explain that really I felt like I was high and I didn't think that working with addicts would be the best place for me. Yea, you think?! In six months, I would have no job, no apartment, no friends, but hey at least I wouldn't be a smoker, right?!

Well, the drug is an anti-depressant. That should have been my first clue. Who knows what long-term damage this stuff will do to me, but for now I guess I have to live with the sleepless nights, eatless days, sizzled neurons and lack of emotion, cuz I haven't smoked in 8 days and no randomn beatings or acts of property destruction have occurred. Victoria is safe.

But I suppose it's worth it. I just keep reminding myself of the money I will be saving, the flesh in my lungs that will retain its colour, the food that will be savoured and the warmth that I will enjoy forevermore as I will no longer have to brave the cold in order to get my 'kick'.

It's only day 8......

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Consuming me

And once again the unsettling feelings that accompany complacency have returned and my stomach is in knots as the silvery glare of my electronics reminds me I am on the road to hell. The hell I refer to is not the biblical one of fire and heat, but one of cell phones, white pickets fences and the odd feeling that sits in the pit of your stomach everytime you enter Walmart. Greed I believe is the term.

I look around me and I see a lot of stuff, some of it useful; much of it enjoyable; none of it necessary. Yet so easily I can justify why I am possession of so many unecessary items and so easy it is for me to condemn and judge those who possess that much more.

See I like to think that I am different from those who ride in black Escalades down tree-lined streets wearing Armani suits and diamond rings. But I am not. I am just as guilty. My clothes are made by children in Thailand and India, my shoes are sewn by women in China, the food I eat is mass produced at the sake of animals’ decency so I can save a buck and the car I drive is slowly choking our air and flooding our earth. And yet still I believe that I am not guilty of continuing child labour, drug deals, weapon trades and animal cruelty. No, no. I am aware, I am conscious, I know.

The fact is it doesn't matter that I am aware of, or in the contemplative stage of the change model. I am a consumer in the wealthiest group of people on the face of this planet and I, like millions of others, love Old Navy! In fact, I think I am worse than many, because of the fact that I am aware, I am socially, politcally and environmentally conscious, yet I do nothing to change the way I live.

Weddings, birthdays, Christmas, new home, new baby. It's easy to get side-tracked. All of this equals more stuff and we live in a world where we are bombarded my messages telling us the stuff=life long happiness and success. Not for me. Every new possession I obtain feels like a weight around my neck and a ball and chain around my foot. These feelings come and go; sometimes I believe that I could live that life and be happy. It's like a new sweater. I see it, I love it, I buy it and wear it for a month straight. And then suddenly it doesn't hold the same value and I see something else to buy and love and wear. And so the cycle continues until the other half of me gets reignited and I think I hear a voice in my head telling me to sell it all and go. Go wherever love is needed, whevever God seeks me to be. But I can never distinguish between what God is telling me and what I am telling myself. So I chalk it up to my innate need to always be in a state of crisis and tensley wait until it passes.

My fear is that one day it won’t. It will be too late and I will feel that I wasted my passion, my heart and my gifts looking for a good deal at Value Village.