Hey.
I was in a taxi heading home from the school where I work (I work in the office, no way I could teach this generation of criminals and hooligans, I'm sorry), and I was just watching all the people that we passed, the yards and houses, people going about their daily lives, just....going. Walking, moving, not still, just...in motion. Always in motion. I wondered how many of them lived their entire lives like that, in motion, on autopilot, without stopping for any meaningful consideration of where they were at, where they're going, and just how they could make their own lives better, or help to improve the life of someone they knew.
I was having this same discussion with my resident hippie/intellectual, a very good sistren of mine that did(surprise surprise), psychology as her major, and is now pursuing her second degree. I brought it up to her, and she said that she thought that maybe 45% of people live life, from birth till death on autopilot, going where society, their peers, their parents, their significant other or whoever tells them to go, maybe all the while believing that what they're doing is their own decision/intention. Of the other 55%, maybe 35%, iirc (...what, lazy this evening) only wake up due to some kind of crisis, such as the quarter life crisis (boy, did that reach me last year), the mid life crisis, or the old age crisis/arrival. The rest are intellectuals, hippies (such as her, god bless her), revolutionaries, or just thinkers in general that are aware and choose their own path, but usually end up suffering for it. We also included weedheads, but for today I'll chose to ignore that controversial grouping.
*ahem* Anyway.
So, according to our two person survey, there's only 15% of the earth's population with their eyes (physical and mental) open, the rest being sheep, for the most part, acting out an unthinking and unreasoning drama for the better part of their lives, from birth till death.
This makes me very sad.
I believe that free will is a God given right (yes, I also believe in God, but that's an arguement for another day, focus), and the least that we can do is exercise it, come what may. The thought of just....masses of people coasting from birth till death......just animated flesh, going through their paces, heads down, blinkers on, staring at the carrot to the complete denial of all else, what might exist, what might be possible, themselves. Just..........blind.
Sad.
These are people that never challenge the status quo, even mentally or just amongst their friends. They never look around and go 'Why is the world like this? Isn't there some way I can make this better? Why does everything have to be this messed up, can't we fix this?' They never look outside of the well rutted path that they're trodding, and see that if they just took a little bit more time, or showed just a smidge more consideration for their fellow man, then there would be an exponential increase in quality of life for all.
Think about it, when was the last time you did something for someone without looking for a reward? Or you helped someone out without being asked in the first place? Hmmmm? Be honest.
Smile. Open a door. Breathe, and stop and give a quiet answer the next time you feel like tearing your neighbour/spouse/customer/sibling/random driver on the road's head off. Take a little more time to do.........something, anything, better for someone, and don't look for thanks. Do it in the name of improving the universe. Send out the positive energy, let it spread out from you, and even though it will look like its been swallowed up by the universe, like a ripple, it is spreading beneath the surface, the forces are still at work, and believe me, it will come back to you. Just....be a better person, even for a minute or two, especially with a child or children, because they, of all else, have it the worst; they do not understand this mess they're born into, so they try, and get hurt, rebuffed, and suffer throught a cold, uncaring life to become the harsh, cold, uncaring adults that populate the world we all live in.
Take the time to brighten the universe, and to stop and think about who you are, where you're going, why you're going there, and if that is really where you want to end up. Trust me, such deep reflection one's own state and condition will never be a waste of time.
Lastly, you've heard this truism dozen times, but its still true (hence, its a truism. See, brilliant.) Smile, it'll make you feel better.
:)
More as it develops.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Natural Born Hustler.
So anyway, its been a long week. Lost a fight to smoking, got my paycheck (and finished it the same day, oh well, good thing I still live at home.....no, actually, its not, but meh), dealt with my asshat coworkers that have decided to not speak to me, all because I am supposed to have 'carried news' on one of them or somesuch bullshit, but whatever, I'm there for the paycheck, I ain't got to talk to none of them.
I tried to figure out some ways to make extra money earlier this week, and what I realised was, I'm not a natural born hustler. Yup. Its a humbling realisation, for someone that once had thug life aspirations (haven't we all.....no?.....well, ok then...), to realise that if I was probably plucked out of my current position in life, and plopped down on the mean streets of (insert city possessing mean streets here), I'd probably starve to death, if not end up in a hotel room somewhere, in a bathtub full of ice and lacking my (insert internal organ of choice that human can live without, and possessess a great demand on the black market).
Its sad really. At one point in my life, I had it all planned, how me and my friends were gonna be hoodlums, and do all manner of dastardly deeds for money, turning my back on my morals and my family to follow a life that the music that I listened to at the time led me to believe was the life to live. I look back at those days, and shake my head at how far out of my god given brains I was. The things I used to do, the way I'd disappear out of my house for days at a time, and then the things I'd spend those days doing.....planning this, scheming on that, and, in all seriousness, looking at the long term, for the life of a gangster.
I must've been out of my mind.
I look back at that time, and the person who I was is standing at the other end of a loooooooong hall, and I can only make out his shape and maybe his clothes, other than that, I can't see him clearly at all. I don't understand the way he thinks, the things that drive him to do what he does, I don't know what kind of home life he has, I just.....don't know him at all. He's alien to me. He's like that cousin, you know, the one that everyone has. You're close to him as a child, but when you grow up, you don't see him at all anymore, and you only hear of what he's up to through the family channels, still getting up to his tricks and antics, but you've moved on to the serious process of being an adult (or at least not doing the crap that he's doing these days). He was fun to hang with for a while, but you're too old for that now (and secretly, your happy that you stopped hanging with him before something really serious, and potentially life threatening/changing happened).
Like I said, crazy.
Which brings me back to my current predicament. I've got a wedding in a few months, and I need to make some money, like pronto. I've never really had to.....hustle before, just winging it got me bye, supported by friends that would let me crash, or cadge a meal (or ten), and then my family (the long suffering folk that they were/are) would turn up at a critical moment (okay, they'd be there throughout, but I'd only turn to them when I had NOTHING left....which was waaaay more than I liked), and provide something. But, I could get by, uptown hustling, if you get me. Now, I'm in a eight to four, in a town that, despite having grown up here, I don't know at all, and which I don't (nor have I ever) felt a part of, everyone of my other friends that I went to school with seem to be moving up, whether legally or illegally, and.....my brain hurts. I just can't seem to hack it, and its really beginning to piss me off now.
Bleagh. Going to bed now.
More as it develops.
I tried to figure out some ways to make extra money earlier this week, and what I realised was, I'm not a natural born hustler. Yup. Its a humbling realisation, for someone that once had thug life aspirations (haven't we all.....no?.....well, ok then...), to realise that if I was probably plucked out of my current position in life, and plopped down on the mean streets of (insert city possessing mean streets here), I'd probably starve to death, if not end up in a hotel room somewhere, in a bathtub full of ice and lacking my (insert internal organ of choice that human can live without, and possessess a great demand on the black market).
Its sad really. At one point in my life, I had it all planned, how me and my friends were gonna be hoodlums, and do all manner of dastardly deeds for money, turning my back on my morals and my family to follow a life that the music that I listened to at the time led me to believe was the life to live. I look back at those days, and shake my head at how far out of my god given brains I was. The things I used to do, the way I'd disappear out of my house for days at a time, and then the things I'd spend those days doing.....planning this, scheming on that, and, in all seriousness, looking at the long term, for the life of a gangster.
I must've been out of my mind.
I look back at that time, and the person who I was is standing at the other end of a loooooooong hall, and I can only make out his shape and maybe his clothes, other than that, I can't see him clearly at all. I don't understand the way he thinks, the things that drive him to do what he does, I don't know what kind of home life he has, I just.....don't know him at all. He's alien to me. He's like that cousin, you know, the one that everyone has. You're close to him as a child, but when you grow up, you don't see him at all anymore, and you only hear of what he's up to through the family channels, still getting up to his tricks and antics, but you've moved on to the serious process of being an adult (or at least not doing the crap that he's doing these days). He was fun to hang with for a while, but you're too old for that now (and secretly, your happy that you stopped hanging with him before something really serious, and potentially life threatening/changing happened).
Like I said, crazy.
Which brings me back to my current predicament. I've got a wedding in a few months, and I need to make some money, like pronto. I've never really had to.....hustle before, just winging it got me bye, supported by friends that would let me crash, or cadge a meal (or ten), and then my family (the long suffering folk that they were/are) would turn up at a critical moment (okay, they'd be there throughout, but I'd only turn to them when I had NOTHING left....which was waaaay more than I liked), and provide something. But, I could get by, uptown hustling, if you get me. Now, I'm in a eight to four, in a town that, despite having grown up here, I don't know at all, and which I don't (nor have I ever) felt a part of, everyone of my other friends that I went to school with seem to be moving up, whether legally or illegally, and.....my brain hurts. I just can't seem to hack it, and its really beginning to piss me off now.
Bleagh. Going to bed now.
More as it develops.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A moment of Truth
This is hard.
Mhm.
It is. It really is.
I can't skimp where writing is concerned, and if I don't think its quality (for me at least, lemme not appear too full of myself, its still early in the game), then I won't present it, give it in, let it go until I think its, if not right (and that rarely ever happens), then at least acceptable, if not workable, and more than sufficient to the task, or to my purpose in writing in the first place.
The same goes for this blog. While no one's reading it, they might some day, and in that instance, I wouldn't want the person to be met with the same plain fare that clogs so many other blogs, but which many seem to seek out with such gusto, and then scarf by the tonload. I want to be a writer, and I want to write for many reasons, not the least of which I want to entertain with my writing, tell enjoyable stories, and provide (If I'm any good at all), some food for thought, or at least a pleasant afternoon's entertainment. I also, however, want to maintain a certain level of quality while I'm doing so. Since, not to toot my own horn (oh what the hell, I think it anyway), but, I believe that I could write some derivative crap based on what's popular now (sex, death, Harry Potter?) and be financially viable doing so, if not achieve best seller status if I keep it up long enough (yes, I've read some 'bestsellers' in my time. Oh boy.) But that would be breaking the unspoken code that exists between every reader, and their writer of choice.
Know what that is. It is to be true.
Its that simple.
Every writer has an unspoken obligation to everyone that spends their money, goes to a library or even just goes to a friends house and picks up their book, to be true to them. Now, I'm not talking about some high flown moral code, a literary Hippocratic oath, or anything of the sort. Neither am I saying that the (fiction) writer shouldn't bullshit their readers (a fiction writer's stock in trade is finely crafted, exquisite, world class bullshit, with the occasional life lesson thrown in). I'm saying neither of those things.
What I am saying is, a writer should be true to their reader, the best way they know how and as much as they can, given the situation. That's it. It's a simple concept (I think), but one that is disregarded out of hand, almost as a matter of fact these days.
Lemme explain.
Only say what you really, truly, deep down have a burning desire to say. If its fiction, and its a job for you, then you shouldn't be doing it. That's my thing. Fiction writing, in the very least, shouldn't be a job. It shouldn't feel like work. No matter how hard it is, sitting down day after day and grinding oneself down, waiting for the muse to come and perch on your head and deliver his moment of inspiration (yes, mine is a man. What?), at the end of it, it should be exhilarating, uplifting, a moment of such....transcendence, that it makes the other hours of erasures, changes, swearing and frustration all worth it. If it doesn't feel like that, or that doesn't even enter the picture, its only a nine - to - five for you, then maybe you should think of trying your hand at something else. For the sake of your readers, hmmm? How about it. Spare their (hopefully, after years of reading your writing) delicate sensibilities and already jaded sense of perception. Give them the chance to experience something real, in this slick, pre-packaged, one size fits all, two to a pack but you can get five for a buck world.
Please.
I've come so far off track, but I said all of that to say this. Blogging, as I see it should be done, with a healthy serving of truth in every post, is hard to do. Whilst a lot of things run through my mind everyday, I don't think that they're all worthy to come home and shoot out into the world on a moments notice. I don't feel like adding my mental garbage to the intellectual garbage heap that is the internet, and I make no apology for that statement. None. If I'm gonna say something (to the readers I hope to have one day), then I intend for it to be of a quality or calibre equal to what I would want out of a good blog post, in the very least. This is fair, and more than reasonable.
So, this is hard. I'll only be here to update this thing when I feel I have something worthwhile to say, and share with my so far, insubstantial readership. That is all. I think its a healthy view to take with writing in general. Even if one isn't passionate about the subject, at least, in the very least, try and be true.
What that means, however, is different for every writer out there, and for all of us that are trying to join their hallowed ranks.
For me, this is what it means.
More as it develops.
Mhm.
It is. It really is.
I can't skimp where writing is concerned, and if I don't think its quality (for me at least, lemme not appear too full of myself, its still early in the game), then I won't present it, give it in, let it go until I think its, if not right (and that rarely ever happens), then at least acceptable, if not workable, and more than sufficient to the task, or to my purpose in writing in the first place.
The same goes for this blog. While no one's reading it, they might some day, and in that instance, I wouldn't want the person to be met with the same plain fare that clogs so many other blogs, but which many seem to seek out with such gusto, and then scarf by the tonload. I want to be a writer, and I want to write for many reasons, not the least of which I want to entertain with my writing, tell enjoyable stories, and provide (If I'm any good at all), some food for thought, or at least a pleasant afternoon's entertainment. I also, however, want to maintain a certain level of quality while I'm doing so. Since, not to toot my own horn (oh what the hell, I think it anyway), but, I believe that I could write some derivative crap based on what's popular now (sex, death, Harry Potter?) and be financially viable doing so, if not achieve best seller status if I keep it up long enough (yes, I've read some 'bestsellers' in my time. Oh boy.) But that would be breaking the unspoken code that exists between every reader, and their writer of choice.
Know what that is. It is to be true.
Its that simple.
Every writer has an unspoken obligation to everyone that spends their money, goes to a library or even just goes to a friends house and picks up their book, to be true to them. Now, I'm not talking about some high flown moral code, a literary Hippocratic oath, or anything of the sort. Neither am I saying that the (fiction) writer shouldn't bullshit their readers (a fiction writer's stock in trade is finely crafted, exquisite, world class bullshit, with the occasional life lesson thrown in). I'm saying neither of those things.
What I am saying is, a writer should be true to their reader, the best way they know how and as much as they can, given the situation. That's it. It's a simple concept (I think), but one that is disregarded out of hand, almost as a matter of fact these days.
Lemme explain.
Only say what you really, truly, deep down have a burning desire to say. If its fiction, and its a job for you, then you shouldn't be doing it. That's my thing. Fiction writing, in the very least, shouldn't be a job. It shouldn't feel like work. No matter how hard it is, sitting down day after day and grinding oneself down, waiting for the muse to come and perch on your head and deliver his moment of inspiration (yes, mine is a man. What?), at the end of it, it should be exhilarating, uplifting, a moment of such....transcendence, that it makes the other hours of erasures, changes, swearing and frustration all worth it. If it doesn't feel like that, or that doesn't even enter the picture, its only a nine - to - five for you, then maybe you should think of trying your hand at something else. For the sake of your readers, hmmm? How about it. Spare their (hopefully, after years of reading your writing) delicate sensibilities and already jaded sense of perception. Give them the chance to experience something real, in this slick, pre-packaged, one size fits all, two to a pack but you can get five for a buck world.
Please.
I've come so far off track, but I said all of that to say this. Blogging, as I see it should be done, with a healthy serving of truth in every post, is hard to do. Whilst a lot of things run through my mind everyday, I don't think that they're all worthy to come home and shoot out into the world on a moments notice. I don't feel like adding my mental garbage to the intellectual garbage heap that is the internet, and I make no apology for that statement. None. If I'm gonna say something (to the readers I hope to have one day), then I intend for it to be of a quality or calibre equal to what I would want out of a good blog post, in the very least. This is fair, and more than reasonable.
So, this is hard. I'll only be here to update this thing when I feel I have something worthwhile to say, and share with my so far, insubstantial readership. That is all. I think its a healthy view to take with writing in general. Even if one isn't passionate about the subject, at least, in the very least, try and be true.
What that means, however, is different for every writer out there, and for all of us that are trying to join their hallowed ranks.
For me, this is what it means.
More as it develops.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Rainy Day Musings
Today was a rainy day at work. Its October in Jamaica, so what else is new? I sat and looked through the sliding windows at the front of the school as the uniformed students went about their business with more than the usual haste, in their (ineffectual) efforts to avoid the rain. I listened as the chattered to each other, letting the waves of youthful energy wash over me as I relaxed in a contemplative moment. Then I heard one of them ask another if he wasn't going to 'forward back', and it struck me, 'when did such an oxymoron become, not only slang, but in certain places, accepted language (which means its also spoken by adults. Whether or not this really makes it accepted language is not the point, but I consider the english spoken by adults to be the accepted form). This got me thinking about slang, its current incarnation, and just what do these changes mean for our (Jamaican) society as a whole?
To cut a long story short, the creators and main drivers of the words and word combinations that become the slang of the moment are the 'artistes', meaning the deejays. These are the Jamaican versions of rappers and rockstars (even though I think that they're mostly like rappers, they're only a few of them that can qualify as rockstars, IMO (there we go again, don't you just hate that?)), and as such, are the idols of a majority of the younger and young adult generation. They live the 'ghetto life' and then proceed to sing about it, making enough in the process to successfully leave the ghetto, that being the original intent of the many, only to turn around and then (at least in a lyrical sense, physically is another matter) never leave it, making hit after hit about the struggle, chanting down babylon (and if you don't know what that means, then you're clearly not as big on Jamaica as you'd like to believe) and fighting against the amorphous and ubiquitous man/establishment/them, whatever your word is for it.
Oh yeah, also 'bad mind'. That's a big topic as well. Read: haterz. That's the biggest topic in fact, as far as I can see...but back to what I was talking about originally...which was what again...*looks up post* ah.
So back to 'forward back'. To 'forward' means to come, or to go to. It's current incarnation, as the replacement for 'come', is because the aforementioned word sounds too much like 'cum', its phonetic twin. Due to this, it is not used by the younger generation, as the reaction to its use is usually 'my yout, wha yuh ah talk bout' cum, clean up your language, clean up your speech' (that whole 'clean up your language', or 'put some clothes on that speech' is a matter for another day entirely...!), read: 'why're you talking about cumming, now now, be more decent in your language usage' or somesuch. I don't quite remember where this originated, but it has become rooted in our daily language, to the point where I hear adults using it all the time. This distresses me on several fronts. Why, you may ask?
Hmmm.
Let's see: the rules of the english language may be contravened almost without thought by the popularity of a dj's song, hype and the force and energy of the young? A word that for years had no negative connotations WHATSOEVER until, due to its becoming associated with a sexual act and a lyrical gimmick, is now a pariah, an outcast, shunned by its regular and longtime users, once legion, now in a steadily dwindling majority? It's exile, however, only being one among many words that are now not used at all by the younger generation, all because of their drummed up sexual connotation, in a myriad of ways? Words, that with the loss of each one, is one less word that the members of this new generation will be able to use with ease and skill, much less alacrity, when the time that their (easy and comfortable) usage 'comes'.
In another instant, Bounty Killa (my dj, lemme just get that out of the way, to hell with all you Beenie Man fans... :) ), on primetime tv, declared that 'I are the one.'
Mmhmmm.
That has since become the standard use of those two words, in a lighthearted manner, to be sure (by most of its users, anyway), but without their knowledge that, with each use, they come that much closer to using that combination in the wrong setting, at the wrong time, and without thought (practice makes perfect, and all that).
Am I obsessing over something that I shouldn't be, I mean, am I making a mountain out of a few grains of dust? Sometimes I wonder......but then I think that language is also a dictator of thought, the one determines the other, around and around in an endless cycle that determines the level of our thought, and the structure of our language. Then I think, 'why is sex such a constant occupier of our thought processes', and not just sex, but sex in a crass, cheap light? Something that should never be held in a careless or 'light' light, is being bandied about as the butt of jokes, careless remarks, and is the focus of so much of the interaction amongst the younger generation in our schools and on our roads. What does THIS say for our society as a whole, and its future?
I don't quite know, but I can say that I think that it ain't good, not by a long shot. Is this the level of thought that we want to encourage amongst the future leaders and overseers of our country, the one's that will take care of us in our old age, and decide the policy and direction of our children, and their children? What will they grow up to see and do, and hear as they go about their business of living, and how will this affect them, their thoughts, feelings and opinions, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum?
Everything is generational and cultural, but it still hurts to think about it sometimes.
Wow, I started out talking about slang, and look where I ended up, eh? I wonder if I'm overreacting to this whole thing......
Hmmm.
I dunno, but I do know this. The prevalence of late, of Jamaican students and kids posting sexual acts on the net (underage kids, a lot of them) has blossomed, so much so that there have been quite a few scandals in the past few months, some involving the children of certain highly regarded, upstanding members of our society. Whilst not the only factor (not by a long shot), what I spoke about up post has had no impact on this trend (among others)?
No connection?
Think about it, and come to your own conclusions.
More as it develops.
To cut a long story short, the creators and main drivers of the words and word combinations that become the slang of the moment are the 'artistes', meaning the deejays. These are the Jamaican versions of rappers and rockstars (even though I think that they're mostly like rappers, they're only a few of them that can qualify as rockstars, IMO (there we go again, don't you just hate that?)), and as such, are the idols of a majority of the younger and young adult generation. They live the 'ghetto life' and then proceed to sing about it, making enough in the process to successfully leave the ghetto, that being the original intent of the many, only to turn around and then (at least in a lyrical sense, physically is another matter) never leave it, making hit after hit about the struggle, chanting down babylon (and if you don't know what that means, then you're clearly not as big on Jamaica as you'd like to believe) and fighting against the amorphous and ubiquitous man/establishment/them, whatever your word is for it.
Oh yeah, also 'bad mind'. That's a big topic as well. Read: haterz. That's the biggest topic in fact, as far as I can see...but back to what I was talking about originally...which was what again...*looks up post* ah.
So back to 'forward back'. To 'forward' means to come, or to go to. It's current incarnation, as the replacement for 'come', is because the aforementioned word sounds too much like 'cum', its phonetic twin. Due to this, it is not used by the younger generation, as the reaction to its use is usually 'my yout, wha yuh ah talk bout' cum, clean up your language, clean up your speech' (that whole 'clean up your language', or 'put some clothes on that speech' is a matter for another day entirely...!), read: 'why're you talking about cumming, now now, be more decent in your language usage' or somesuch. I don't quite remember where this originated, but it has become rooted in our daily language, to the point where I hear adults using it all the time. This distresses me on several fronts. Why, you may ask?
Hmmm.
Let's see: the rules of the english language may be contravened almost without thought by the popularity of a dj's song, hype and the force and energy of the young? A word that for years had no negative connotations WHATSOEVER until, due to its becoming associated with a sexual act and a lyrical gimmick, is now a pariah, an outcast, shunned by its regular and longtime users, once legion, now in a steadily dwindling majority? It's exile, however, only being one among many words that are now not used at all by the younger generation, all because of their drummed up sexual connotation, in a myriad of ways? Words, that with the loss of each one, is one less word that the members of this new generation will be able to use with ease and skill, much less alacrity, when the time that their (easy and comfortable) usage 'comes'.
In another instant, Bounty Killa (my dj, lemme just get that out of the way, to hell with all you Beenie Man fans... :) ), on primetime tv, declared that 'I are the one.'
Mmhmmm.
That has since become the standard use of those two words, in a lighthearted manner, to be sure (by most of its users, anyway), but without their knowledge that, with each use, they come that much closer to using that combination in the wrong setting, at the wrong time, and without thought (practice makes perfect, and all that).
Am I obsessing over something that I shouldn't be, I mean, am I making a mountain out of a few grains of dust? Sometimes I wonder......but then I think that language is also a dictator of thought, the one determines the other, around and around in an endless cycle that determines the level of our thought, and the structure of our language. Then I think, 'why is sex such a constant occupier of our thought processes', and not just sex, but sex in a crass, cheap light? Something that should never be held in a careless or 'light' light, is being bandied about as the butt of jokes, careless remarks, and is the focus of so much of the interaction amongst the younger generation in our schools and on our roads. What does THIS say for our society as a whole, and its future?
I don't quite know, but I can say that I think that it ain't good, not by a long shot. Is this the level of thought that we want to encourage amongst the future leaders and overseers of our country, the one's that will take care of us in our old age, and decide the policy and direction of our children, and their children? What will they grow up to see and do, and hear as they go about their business of living, and how will this affect them, their thoughts, feelings and opinions, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum?
Everything is generational and cultural, but it still hurts to think about it sometimes.
Wow, I started out talking about slang, and look where I ended up, eh? I wonder if I'm overreacting to this whole thing......
Hmmm.
I dunno, but I do know this. The prevalence of late, of Jamaican students and kids posting sexual acts on the net (underage kids, a lot of them) has blossomed, so much so that there have been quite a few scandals in the past few months, some involving the children of certain highly regarded, upstanding members of our society. Whilst not the only factor (not by a long shot), what I spoke about up post has had no impact on this trend (among others)?
No connection?
Think about it, and come to your own conclusions.
More as it develops.
Monday, October 8, 2007
"....and we're back on the air, this is Quitters Anonymous...."
Hey.
What's up? You been good?...mhm...mhm...ok.
Good to hear.
Me, I've been good. On my fifteenth day without a cigarette (did I mention that I was quitting smoking? Did I mention that I smoke...? Hm.), and I feel great. Boy, I sit sometimes and wonder what could be so powerful to compel you to use something that, within twenty-four to thirty six hours of stopping its use, you feel lighter, breathe easier, the aches and pains that you'd grown so accustomed to goes away, and you feel like a new person with a new lease on existence.
Then I remember the shakes, twitchiness, irritability, manic mood swings, and the constant, niggling desire to light up and keep poisoning yourself, and I go 'Ah, that's why.'
*Rick James voice* "Nicotine is a helluva drug."
Anyway.
Quitting isn't easy (and the award for 'Understatement of the year goes to...'), but the key is having a plan and sticking to it. Me? I've come up with a system that works for me, and I'll share it with you, in exchange for a few minutes, an open mind, and the belief that you too can quit.
If you don't smoke, then good. Don't. Nasty, disgusting, life ending habit, and if I ever see you with a cigarette, I'll hit you so hard your parents and your grandkids will feel it.
As to my syestem, well...I don't eat as much, so that I'm always a little hungry, and that helps take the edge of the want, and it also eliminates the 'oh so full' feeling, which is a HUGE trigger for the 'just eaten' cigarette. I exercise, which actually does help as well to take the edge off as well, and produces endorphins, which are a great replacement for the nicotine buzz, lemme tell you. I stay away from (or minimize my physical time, in the interim, till my will power is up to scratch) my friends who smoke, and try to regulate and regularize my routine. These are two powerful triggers, as smoking is largely a learned activity, and an immensely social one. Also, having too much time on your hands makes for too much time to think about how you'd love a cigarette.
Stay focused, it can be done. Make up your mind and do it.
The next step, as far as I am concerned (when was the last time you saw that, and not AFAIC, eh?) is to train yourself to resist that IMMEDIATE urge, the second you feel stressed, pressured, tired, or your mental hold slips ('cause you're gonna have to keep that mental hold strong, there's no pill that'll make you quit, they're just 'assistants', or, as I like to think of them, crutches) to go out and get a cancer stick and light it up.
It can be done, stay with me now.
Really, this is the killer. I've 'stepped' outside myself, and watched myself get up, put on clothes, root up some spare change, walk out to the town proper, and get some singles, walk back, sit down on my verandah and light up, the whole time thinking 'I don't want to do this, but why can't I stop', at anytime between ten o'clock and one o'clock in the morning, on any given night (day or time for that matter) that the urge has struck me, and I didn't have any. I'll be going good, maintaining, keeping busy, doing my thing, and then a little voice and a push that says 'go have one, you know you want to' comes along, and I shrug and go 'ok, the hell you were waiting on, let's go!' and off I go, whilst inside I'm shouting 'Stop!' every step of the way.
It's not nice to feel like you don't have control of yourself or your mind. It's the ultimate feeling of powerlessness, and it can UTTERLY break your spirit, if you let it. So, you look out for it, and nip it in the bud when it comes. Me, I just tell myself 'I've quit, I don't do that anymore!' over and over, whilst I stand there and fight a short but dirty mental scuffle with my fiending nerve endings, shake it off when it goes away (when I win, that is. When I lose...well) and keep going. I used to say that 'No, I'm trying to quit', but this is a fallacy (defined: A fallacy is an argument which seems to be correct but which contains at least one error and, as a consequence, produces a final statement which is clearly wrong. Though it is clear that the result is wrong, the error in the argument is usually (and ought to be) difficult to find...). Say it with me now, its very simple.
Ready? Here goes.
You're not trying. You've either quit, or you haven't. NO TWO WAYS ABOUT IT.
It can be done. Stay focused.
Finally, I treat the feeling of emptiness, of loss and sadness at having lost something so essential to my existence ('Nicotine is a helluva drug') by remembering my bad breath, my wife-to-be complaining about my mouth tasting like an ashtray, black lungs, smokers in cancer wards on respirators, being incapacitated and having to lug such a respirator around, the damage I'm doing to the environment with each cigarette, the fact that somewhere big tobacco is laughing all the way to the bank (and hell), cashing in on my suffering and desire to be cool, feel calm, relax and enjoy this thing that shortens my life with every breath I take. I think of all those things, but mostly I think about dying and leaving my wife and children (when we have them) for as stupid a reason as not being able to control myself, exert my will (the single most underused aspect of an individual's psyche in today's society, IMO (there you go!)), and STOP KILLING MYSELF SLOWLY.
Stay with me, it can be done. Just keep your head in the game.
I think about those things, and I smile, and say to myself 'sure, something's going to kill me someday, BUT NOTHING THAT I CAN CONTROL!'
That's what I do. Fifteen days and going. Two months personal best. *breathes deep* Let's see what I can do about extending that, shall we?
More as it develops.
What's up? You been good?...mhm...mhm...ok.
Good to hear.
Me, I've been good. On my fifteenth day without a cigarette (did I mention that I was quitting smoking? Did I mention that I smoke...? Hm.), and I feel great. Boy, I sit sometimes and wonder what could be so powerful to compel you to use something that, within twenty-four to thirty six hours of stopping its use, you feel lighter, breathe easier, the aches and pains that you'd grown so accustomed to goes away, and you feel like a new person with a new lease on existence.
Then I remember the shakes, twitchiness, irritability, manic mood swings, and the constant, niggling desire to light up and keep poisoning yourself, and I go 'Ah, that's why.'
*Rick James voice* "Nicotine is a helluva drug."
Anyway.
Quitting isn't easy (and the award for 'Understatement of the year goes to...'), but the key is having a plan and sticking to it. Me? I've come up with a system that works for me, and I'll share it with you, in exchange for a few minutes, an open mind, and the belief that you too can quit.
If you don't smoke, then good. Don't. Nasty, disgusting, life ending habit, and if I ever see you with a cigarette, I'll hit you so hard your parents and your grandkids will feel it.
As to my syestem, well...I don't eat as much, so that I'm always a little hungry, and that helps take the edge of the want, and it also eliminates the 'oh so full' feeling, which is a HUGE trigger for the 'just eaten' cigarette. I exercise, which actually does help as well to take the edge off as well, and produces endorphins, which are a great replacement for the nicotine buzz, lemme tell you. I stay away from (or minimize my physical time, in the interim, till my will power is up to scratch) my friends who smoke, and try to regulate and regularize my routine. These are two powerful triggers, as smoking is largely a learned activity, and an immensely social one. Also, having too much time on your hands makes for too much time to think about how you'd love a cigarette.
Stay focused, it can be done. Make up your mind and do it.
The next step, as far as I am concerned (when was the last time you saw that, and not AFAIC, eh?) is to train yourself to resist that IMMEDIATE urge, the second you feel stressed, pressured, tired, or your mental hold slips ('cause you're gonna have to keep that mental hold strong, there's no pill that'll make you quit, they're just 'assistants', or, as I like to think of them, crutches) to go out and get a cancer stick and light it up.
It can be done, stay with me now.
Really, this is the killer. I've 'stepped' outside myself, and watched myself get up, put on clothes, root up some spare change, walk out to the town proper, and get some singles, walk back, sit down on my verandah and light up, the whole time thinking 'I don't want to do this, but why can't I stop', at anytime between ten o'clock and one o'clock in the morning, on any given night (day or time for that matter) that the urge has struck me, and I didn't have any. I'll be going good, maintaining, keeping busy, doing my thing, and then a little voice and a push that says 'go have one, you know you want to' comes along, and I shrug and go 'ok, the hell you were waiting on, let's go!' and off I go, whilst inside I'm shouting 'Stop!' every step of the way.
It's not nice to feel like you don't have control of yourself or your mind. It's the ultimate feeling of powerlessness, and it can UTTERLY break your spirit, if you let it. So, you look out for it, and nip it in the bud when it comes. Me, I just tell myself 'I've quit, I don't do that anymore!' over and over, whilst I stand there and fight a short but dirty mental scuffle with my fiending nerve endings, shake it off when it goes away (when I win, that is. When I lose...well) and keep going. I used to say that 'No, I'm trying to quit', but this is a fallacy (defined: A fallacy is an argument which seems to be correct but which contains at least one error and, as a consequence, produces a final statement which is clearly wrong. Though it is clear that the result is wrong, the error in the argument is usually (and ought to be) difficult to find...). Say it with me now, its very simple.
Ready? Here goes.
You're not trying. You've either quit, or you haven't. NO TWO WAYS ABOUT IT.
It can be done. Stay focused.
Finally, I treat the feeling of emptiness, of loss and sadness at having lost something so essential to my existence ('Nicotine is a helluva drug') by remembering my bad breath, my wife-to-be complaining about my mouth tasting like an ashtray, black lungs, smokers in cancer wards on respirators, being incapacitated and having to lug such a respirator around, the damage I'm doing to the environment with each cigarette, the fact that somewhere big tobacco is laughing all the way to the bank (and hell), cashing in on my suffering and desire to be cool, feel calm, relax and enjoy this thing that shortens my life with every breath I take. I think of all those things, but mostly I think about dying and leaving my wife and children (when we have them) for as stupid a reason as not being able to control myself, exert my will (the single most underused aspect of an individual's psyche in today's society, IMO (there you go!)), and STOP KILLING MYSELF SLOWLY.
Stay with me, it can be done. Just keep your head in the game.
I think about those things, and I smile, and say to myself 'sure, something's going to kill me someday, BUT NOTHING THAT I CAN CONTROL!'
That's what I do. Fifteen days and going. Two months personal best. *breathes deep* Let's see what I can do about extending that, shall we?
More as it develops.
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