My addiction cares little for me. But when I use it, it doesn’t mind one bit.
It's an unequal relationship.
I think about it all the time. It thinks little of me and my pleas.
And yes, I try to quit. But the very fact I try to stop thinking about it means it has already won the battle for my head. And, unfortunately, my heart as well.
Even when I sleep, I feel it lingering over me. Like an evil spirit offended.
Sometimes I forget I am an addict and feel rehabilitated. Like when I laugh, or think about other milder addictions whose power I’ve yet to fall under. Then I tell myself, the weed is always stronger on the other side.
I have a support group at the office. We all want to be free. But we enjoy being under its influence. It makes us feel alive. Yet it abuses us, makes us feel so small, so foolish, so hurt. I want to have a serious chat with it, I want to ask it if it wants to go, or stay. I can’t handle the ambiguity. I can’t be the one always hanging on, when it’s being so indifferent.
It will have its way with me. I wanted to give up just a little of myself, and I ended up surrendering. It makes me want to relinquish. It makes me want to move to another country, despite the weather. It makes me say hello when I just wish I could say goodbye.
20 February 2005
02 February 2005
Dreams of flying
Today I thought about becoming an air stewardess. Please don't laugh.
I've always poured scorn on a career so banal that "fish or beef?" becomes the highlight of the workday.
Of course, physically, I'll need a few amendments here and there, but that can be solved, with more rest and some minor plastic surgery.
It's much like the life of a sailor, if you think about it. Why should men have all the fun? Why should a job require that you use your brains? Why should "beef or fish?" be such a daunting prospect?
Today i watched The Sea Inside. There was a scene where Ramon the quadriplegic flew over mountains to the beach where he met his crush of the moment. Absolutely fab scene. I wished so much I could do the same. Maybe I'm a quadriplegic after all. Stuck on my little bed, dreaming about doing things that are physically beyond me.
So I decided, I'll work myself into this lean, mean, flying stewardess so I can be free from everything — my bed, my body, but of course, not from beef and fish and fake smiles, which is okay because I've mastered that quite well already.
Back to Ramon. Despite his state of being, nothing stopped him from being loved by gorgeous women. He couldn't go to them, but they came to him. They got horny just hearing his voice. Honest. So I said to myself, even if I can't fly away like Ramon, then please let me have some of that charm.
I've always poured scorn on a career so banal that "fish or beef?" becomes the highlight of the workday.
Of course, physically, I'll need a few amendments here and there, but that can be solved, with more rest and some minor plastic surgery.
It's much like the life of a sailor, if you think about it. Why should men have all the fun? Why should a job require that you use your brains? Why should "beef or fish?" be such a daunting prospect?
Today i watched The Sea Inside. There was a scene where Ramon the quadriplegic flew over mountains to the beach where he met his crush of the moment. Absolutely fab scene. I wished so much I could do the same. Maybe I'm a quadriplegic after all. Stuck on my little bed, dreaming about doing things that are physically beyond me.
So I decided, I'll work myself into this lean, mean, flying stewardess so I can be free from everything — my bed, my body, but of course, not from beef and fish and fake smiles, which is okay because I've mastered that quite well already.
Back to Ramon. Despite his state of being, nothing stopped him from being loved by gorgeous women. He couldn't go to them, but they came to him. They got horny just hearing his voice. Honest. So I said to myself, even if I can't fly away like Ramon, then please let me have some of that charm.
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