I wanted to write something. I started. Then erased. Started again. Erased.
I'm in pain.
The end.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Lovin' is what I got.
Today, I was asked out by a 40-plus year old man. This is something I can typically field with ease, a simple "No", sufficient to drown any hopes he had of wining and dining me. But this particular experience came so far out of left field that I almost laughed in his face. The scenario began when he asked for assistance in locating some titles. Sure, that's my job. I looked up a business title for him first. Great, we had it. The next request caught me off guard. Perhaps it was the title "Box Lunch", or the fact that he subsequently followed that with a nonchalant, "Ees'a ses book." Oh, okay. Box Lunch (for those who are curious). I walk the section, pick out the book, and hand it to him. He seemed oddly interested in making eye contact while asking for my name, and so I smiled a wry smile, gave him my name whilst holding up my name tag, and exited. Fast-forward 20 minutes and a few customers later, as I am headed to the cash register, I saw him approaching quickly from my left. I turned to acknowledge him and he asked again, "What ees your name again?" Uneasily, I reply.
Manuel (An invented name. Creative, I know.) then asked, "How old are you?"
"Excuse me?" I questioned.
Again. "How old are you?"
"I'll be 25 this year," I confirmed, my eyebrows furrowing in feigned confusion.
"I woo'like to take you to dinner," he finalized.
I pressed my lips together tightly, a vain attempt at transforming my mocking smile into an enchantingly apologetic one. "I'm sorry, but I have a boyfriend."
Seemingly unfazed by this he says, "Ah. I weel see you again." Gee, I hope not.
It is almost a shame I cannot accept tips for customer service. I am almost certain I would be putting money in the bank. At my last store, it was common weekly occurance to be hit on by a young to middle-aged male while engaged in business-related conversation. However, given the relaxed, business-casual setting of a bookstore/cafe, and the verbose abandon with which I speak, my male customers confused my sales tactics with actual attraction.
You may not believe me, but truthfully, when I began my work as a bookseller, I had no desire to flirt with and garner attention from my male customers. I sincerely loved books, and adored managing my own little nook in the store. I could talk about traveling and languages and wear cute heels to work, a large step up from my tomboyish hardware store days. You may be able to imagine my trepidation the first time I was asked out for coffee after engaging a customer in conversation about something entirely unrelated. Granted, I did have a boyfriend at the time, but I was unused to being sought out by unfamilar men. I was much more accustomed to joking around with my hardware store boys and being on the same side of the fence. I felt a slight thrill at this sudden shove into womanhood, but also a degree of frustration. "What is this?" I thought. "I just want to do my job, and here I am getting coffee date offers?"
Despite my efforts to keep things all business, the onslaught of suitors did not let up. I have been solicited for hugs, asked out for coffee, heckled by a homeless guy, and shamelessly ogled. As time wore on, I grew more comfortable with my body and the way I looked to men. Part of this had to do with my growth in relationships and my own self-acceptance. I was only frustrating myself by fighting what was clearly out of my control. Men found me attractive, and that was that. Unable to be genuinely caustic toward anyone, I continued to field their advances and let them roll off my back whilst still marveling at how I could suddenly be so desirable. Even my male co-workers would drop their own tasks if it meant assisting me with mine. The girls in café used to tease me, darkly curious as to why I had "so many boys in my section" all the time.
Less than a year after my first run with B&N, I left to travel abroad on a whim, only to return 4 months later slightly heartbroken, but with a new perspective that would change much of how I saw myself. For 6 months after my trip, I lived on my mom's couch, saving money to begin again. I was quickly rehired at B&N, this time in the café. As I look back on my café experience, I recall feeling a sexual charge that had never been their before. Do not misunderstand me, I have always enjoyed sex. However, this sexual energy was new and improved. It was not the familiar desire to be delicately wooed by a single lover, but had morphed into the desire to chase something seemingly unattainable. Like a tigress hunting her prey, it became an art. I saw how men saw me and I challenged it, unflinchingly. I played favorites with certain male customers, disregarding my previous formal approach in favor of a more flirtatious tone. Leaning onto one leg while steaming milk became my "stance", and I consistently became the punch line for many loving jokes from my café ladies. I prepared their drinks from memory, and gushed about the "cute ones" once they'd gone. I played like this for several months while very seldomly agreeing to date at all.
It is now almost precisely two years from that time. In that time, I have successfully supported myself, tried my hardest at cultivating a new relationship, moved clear across the country wearing nothing but my heart on my shoulder, had that heart broken, and then revived it with my own two hands. That very sexual energy I previously mentioned pulled me from a long week in March of tear-stained sheets, reminding me that though I had every right to mourn, I had no reason to punish myself. What would I have gained by post-poning my life for the sake of crying over someone who did not want me anymore? A long road of pain and slow healing. As the shock of my decision gave way to a new reality, I spent that initial week in my empty new room, licking my wounds and cuddling Stitch. After that, all bets were off. Fuck you if you didn't want me. Fuck you if you did. For nearly 6 months I didn't settle on anyone or anything. I went on dates, accepted phone numbers, gave out my number, almost never called anyone back, had bad sex, and loved every minute of it. Why? Simply, because I could.
It was only as I was coming down from this incredible high that I met someone who would hold my attention. The emotional sedation I felt with so many other men this year was slowly thawed, giving way to, yet, a newer version of myself. To his credit, I did not make it easy for him to win me, but he nevertheless still had me enamored. Unwittingly, I attempted to call his bluff, digging my heels in at every turn, questioning his motives outright. "So, what makes you different from other guys?" I asked, sharpening my claws. I made off handed comments about my ever-increasing standards, and my interest in why men and women could not ever have strictly platonic relationships. He stayed steadfast and remains so. For this, I am forever grateful.
As I approach my 25th birthday, I am overcome by a sense of empowerment and happiness. This does not stop me from indulging my anxiety once in a while, but not in the ways I used to. The anxiety I now feel is a tool through which I try to accomplish something. I have much to be thankful for, but simply put, I love being alive.
Manuel (An invented name. Creative, I know.) then asked, "How old are you?"
"Excuse me?" I questioned.
Again. "How old are you?"
"I'll be 25 this year," I confirmed, my eyebrows furrowing in feigned confusion.
"I woo'like to take you to dinner," he finalized.
I pressed my lips together tightly, a vain attempt at transforming my mocking smile into an enchantingly apologetic one. "I'm sorry, but I have a boyfriend."
Seemingly unfazed by this he says, "Ah. I weel see you again." Gee, I hope not.
It is almost a shame I cannot accept tips for customer service. I am almost certain I would be putting money in the bank. At my last store, it was common weekly occurance to be hit on by a young to middle-aged male while engaged in business-related conversation. However, given the relaxed, business-casual setting of a bookstore/cafe, and the verbose abandon with which I speak, my male customers confused my sales tactics with actual attraction.
You may not believe me, but truthfully, when I began my work as a bookseller, I had no desire to flirt with and garner attention from my male customers. I sincerely loved books, and adored managing my own little nook in the store. I could talk about traveling and languages and wear cute heels to work, a large step up from my tomboyish hardware store days. You may be able to imagine my trepidation the first time I was asked out for coffee after engaging a customer in conversation about something entirely unrelated. Granted, I did have a boyfriend at the time, but I was unused to being sought out by unfamilar men. I was much more accustomed to joking around with my hardware store boys and being on the same side of the fence. I felt a slight thrill at this sudden shove into womanhood, but also a degree of frustration. "What is this?" I thought. "I just want to do my job, and here I am getting coffee date offers?"
Despite my efforts to keep things all business, the onslaught of suitors did not let up. I have been solicited for hugs, asked out for coffee, heckled by a homeless guy, and shamelessly ogled. As time wore on, I grew more comfortable with my body and the way I looked to men. Part of this had to do with my growth in relationships and my own self-acceptance. I was only frustrating myself by fighting what was clearly out of my control. Men found me attractive, and that was that. Unable to be genuinely caustic toward anyone, I continued to field their advances and let them roll off my back whilst still marveling at how I could suddenly be so desirable. Even my male co-workers would drop their own tasks if it meant assisting me with mine. The girls in café used to tease me, darkly curious as to why I had "so many boys in my section" all the time.
Less than a year after my first run with B&N, I left to travel abroad on a whim, only to return 4 months later slightly heartbroken, but with a new perspective that would change much of how I saw myself. For 6 months after my trip, I lived on my mom's couch, saving money to begin again. I was quickly rehired at B&N, this time in the café. As I look back on my café experience, I recall feeling a sexual charge that had never been their before. Do not misunderstand me, I have always enjoyed sex. However, this sexual energy was new and improved. It was not the familiar desire to be delicately wooed by a single lover, but had morphed into the desire to chase something seemingly unattainable. Like a tigress hunting her prey, it became an art. I saw how men saw me and I challenged it, unflinchingly. I played favorites with certain male customers, disregarding my previous formal approach in favor of a more flirtatious tone. Leaning onto one leg while steaming milk became my "stance", and I consistently became the punch line for many loving jokes from my café ladies. I prepared their drinks from memory, and gushed about the "cute ones" once they'd gone. I played like this for several months while very seldomly agreeing to date at all.
It is now almost precisely two years from that time. In that time, I have successfully supported myself, tried my hardest at cultivating a new relationship, moved clear across the country wearing nothing but my heart on my shoulder, had that heart broken, and then revived it with my own two hands. That very sexual energy I previously mentioned pulled me from a long week in March of tear-stained sheets, reminding me that though I had every right to mourn, I had no reason to punish myself. What would I have gained by post-poning my life for the sake of crying over someone who did not want me anymore? A long road of pain and slow healing. As the shock of my decision gave way to a new reality, I spent that initial week in my empty new room, licking my wounds and cuddling Stitch. After that, all bets were off. Fuck you if you didn't want me. Fuck you if you did. For nearly 6 months I didn't settle on anyone or anything. I went on dates, accepted phone numbers, gave out my number, almost never called anyone back, had bad sex, and loved every minute of it. Why? Simply, because I could.
It was only as I was coming down from this incredible high that I met someone who would hold my attention. The emotional sedation I felt with so many other men this year was slowly thawed, giving way to, yet, a newer version of myself. To his credit, I did not make it easy for him to win me, but he nevertheless still had me enamored. Unwittingly, I attempted to call his bluff, digging my heels in at every turn, questioning his motives outright. "So, what makes you different from other guys?" I asked, sharpening my claws. I made off handed comments about my ever-increasing standards, and my interest in why men and women could not ever have strictly platonic relationships. He stayed steadfast and remains so. For this, I am forever grateful.
As I approach my 25th birthday, I am overcome by a sense of empowerment and happiness. This does not stop me from indulging my anxiety once in a while, but not in the ways I used to. The anxiety I now feel is a tool through which I try to accomplish something. I have much to be thankful for, but simply put, I love being alive.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
BoA Constriction
I woke up this morning at 5am to a text sent to me from Bank of America. Thinking it was my loving boyfriend, who sends me random love messages at odd hours, I opened my phone elatedly, only to feel my heart drop when I read the cold, unloving, non-specific bank statement.
Bank of America free text alert! To avoid a service interruption on your account, please call ***-***-**** before 9pm today. To end alerts reply ****.
I mean, fuck, at least it was free! Stupidly, I cracked open Lil' Mac to inspect what exactly was wrong with my accounts now. I had a sinking feeling it had something to do with overdraft fees, as most of my banking problems seem to lately. Lo and behold, I was right; my balance was at a negative-something. WTF. Worry and panic ensued, which then led to crying, which then led to anger at myself for not having gotten after these assholes in the first place. I should not be suffering at 5am like that. No person should. We all work too damn hard to be shaking in our own warm beds, worried that the repo-man is idling just around the corner.
The last couple of times I've called customer service to get assistance in reversing these atrocious banking fees (a whopping $35 PER overdraft charge), I've gotten the cold shoulder. One woman sounded as though she could not care if that last measly $20 was my only grocery money for the week. "I swear to you lady, I cannot afford a Coach bag. I just want to make my car payment." The second guy was more pleasant to deal with, but simply stated that he could not help me because the fees were "valid", a term I'd also heard from Lady Freeze (aforementioned banker).
The fees were valid? What does that even mean? Oh, I get it. I screwed up; therefore, you reserve the right to screw me even more? Thanks. I don't have any money in the first place, and nevertheless, you are taking what I don't have. How is this not backwards? What happened to a bank supporting its customers and helping them work out the kinks? What is going on that customer service has just fallen by the wayside? I hate to pull the "I sign your paychecks" card, but, uh, I kind of do. You have a job because I am your customer, and because my tax dollars have helped bailout your place of business.
I'm not spitting fire for the sake of burning myself either. I do understand how customer service works; I've worked in retail and food service since I was 15. The number one correction or tip I would have to give customer service representatives right now is "Know Your Customer", and if you don't, you'd better learn.
For example, I currently work at literary giant Barnes & Noble. Having been an employee on and off since 2006, I've become one of the more highly trained employees in my current store and I get shuffled between the main customer service desk, kids department, music, cash-wrap, and café. Essentially, I am paid to assist customers and I firmly believe this is my priority, not the selling of memberships. Not only am I paid to assist my customers, but because of my operational soundness, it is my job to anticipate what my my customer needs. Granted, I do not always succeed; everything comes with a rate of failure. Regardless, I try my best.
How does one anticipate their customers' needs? Well, by keeping your eyes and ears open. Example: One particular scenario I always encounter in the café setting is a mom and her antsy children. Each sticky, grabby-hands child wants a cookie, and poor harrowed mom just wants her GD caffeine fix. Add a potential crier in there, or a terrible toddler, and you've got yourself some good family fun. Mom orders her latte, reprimands the kids, orders a cookie or two, goes back to reprimanding the kids. My automatice response, "Do you need these in separate bags?" Sounds stupid, yeah? I cannot even tell you how many mothers I've made happy by asking that one question. "Oh yes, please!" and "How did you know?!" are among the responses I've received.
If there is one thing I've learned in my years of customer service (and babysitting), it is that kids are selfish and moms stress about bringing their selfish children to public places. Does this slow down the line slightly? Yes. Am I being wasteful by using an extra bag? Perhaps. But if I can make everyone's day a little brighter by preventing little Johnny from going ape-shit and destroying everyone's eardrums with his sonic wail, I'll go with that. At this point, you may be wondering why I've digressed. I haven't, I assure you.
Back to this idea about "Knowing Your Customer"... The same goes for banks, and bankers. Yes, you wear business casual, and you stand behind bullet proof glass, or sit at a desk that houses your numerous Banker of the Year awards, but it does not mean you are above anyone. Essentially, you are helping people manage their livelihood. Our capitalist nation thrives on the consistent flow of money from one hand to the next, and you, bankers, are the people who manage that. So, when a frustrated customer sits across from you, pleading for some understanding, I ask you for empathy. You can see that person's account history and activity. If you see that there is one deposit going in per week for no more than $200 dollars, or that they have nothing in savings, you may want to ask that person if they are under financial hardship. Ignoring the issue does not lessen its severity or the effect it has on a person. You, bankers, are the ones who have the information regarding hidden fees, overdraft protection, credit limits and policies; therefore, you are the ones charged with divulging this essential information to your customers.
I cannot truly expect to be an exception to the rule. However, I do truly feel that many of these institutions keep their customers in the dark because it is that much easier for them to turn you away. I understand that there are 50,000 others looking for the same retribution. However, I find it looks terrible when you see your bank getting a multi-million/billion dollar government--issued bail-out, when just the day before they denied you a basic satisfactory customer service experience. "Satisfactory" doesn't even have to mean that I get money returned to me. I simply want to deal with a human who empathizes with my situation. The stone cold faces and voices leave me ashamed for even asking in the first place.
I am so fed up with getting run around by these people. I just want to encounter someone with an honest, empathetic approach to dealing with people. I'm trying so hard... I'm a good person in a bad spot, like so many other Americans to this day. What are we going to do, if we cannot rely on anyone but ourselves? My humanitarian side just may be the death of me. Emerson, were you right? Do we walk alone?
Bank of America free text alert! To avoid a service interruption on your account, please call ***-***-**** before 9pm today. To end alerts reply ****.
I mean, fuck, at least it was free! Stupidly, I cracked open Lil' Mac to inspect what exactly was wrong with my accounts now. I had a sinking feeling it had something to do with overdraft fees, as most of my banking problems seem to lately. Lo and behold, I was right; my balance was at a negative-something. WTF. Worry and panic ensued, which then led to crying, which then led to anger at myself for not having gotten after these assholes in the first place. I should not be suffering at 5am like that. No person should. We all work too damn hard to be shaking in our own warm beds, worried that the repo-man is idling just around the corner.
The last couple of times I've called customer service to get assistance in reversing these atrocious banking fees (a whopping $35 PER overdraft charge), I've gotten the cold shoulder. One woman sounded as though she could not care if that last measly $20 was my only grocery money for the week. "I swear to you lady, I cannot afford a Coach bag. I just want to make my car payment." The second guy was more pleasant to deal with, but simply stated that he could not help me because the fees were "valid", a term I'd also heard from Lady Freeze (aforementioned banker).
The fees were valid? What does that even mean? Oh, I get it. I screwed up; therefore, you reserve the right to screw me even more? Thanks. I don't have any money in the first place, and nevertheless, you are taking what I don't have. How is this not backwards? What happened to a bank supporting its customers and helping them work out the kinks? What is going on that customer service has just fallen by the wayside? I hate to pull the "I sign your paychecks" card, but, uh, I kind of do. You have a job because I am your customer, and because my tax dollars have helped bailout your place of business.
I'm not spitting fire for the sake of burning myself either. I do understand how customer service works; I've worked in retail and food service since I was 15. The number one correction or tip I would have to give customer service representatives right now is "Know Your Customer", and if you don't, you'd better learn.
For example, I currently work at literary giant Barnes & Noble. Having been an employee on and off since 2006, I've become one of the more highly trained employees in my current store and I get shuffled between the main customer service desk, kids department, music, cash-wrap, and café. Essentially, I am paid to assist customers and I firmly believe this is my priority, not the selling of memberships. Not only am I paid to assist my customers, but because of my operational soundness, it is my job to anticipate what my my customer needs. Granted, I do not always succeed; everything comes with a rate of failure. Regardless, I try my best.
How does one anticipate their customers' needs? Well, by keeping your eyes and ears open. Example: One particular scenario I always encounter in the café setting is a mom and her antsy children. Each sticky, grabby-hands child wants a cookie, and poor harrowed mom just wants her GD caffeine fix. Add a potential crier in there, or a terrible toddler, and you've got yourself some good family fun. Mom orders her latte, reprimands the kids, orders a cookie or two, goes back to reprimanding the kids. My automatice response, "Do you need these in separate bags?" Sounds stupid, yeah? I cannot even tell you how many mothers I've made happy by asking that one question. "Oh yes, please!" and "How did you know?!" are among the responses I've received.
If there is one thing I've learned in my years of customer service (and babysitting), it is that kids are selfish and moms stress about bringing their selfish children to public places. Does this slow down the line slightly? Yes. Am I being wasteful by using an extra bag? Perhaps. But if I can make everyone's day a little brighter by preventing little Johnny from going ape-shit and destroying everyone's eardrums with his sonic wail, I'll go with that. At this point, you may be wondering why I've digressed. I haven't, I assure you.
Back to this idea about "Knowing Your Customer"... The same goes for banks, and bankers. Yes, you wear business casual, and you stand behind bullet proof glass, or sit at a desk that houses your numerous Banker of the Year awards, but it does not mean you are above anyone. Essentially, you are helping people manage their livelihood. Our capitalist nation thrives on the consistent flow of money from one hand to the next, and you, bankers, are the people who manage that. So, when a frustrated customer sits across from you, pleading for some understanding, I ask you for empathy. You can see that person's account history and activity. If you see that there is one deposit going in per week for no more than $200 dollars, or that they have nothing in savings, you may want to ask that person if they are under financial hardship. Ignoring the issue does not lessen its severity or the effect it has on a person. You, bankers, are the ones who have the information regarding hidden fees, overdraft protection, credit limits and policies; therefore, you are the ones charged with divulging this essential information to your customers.
I cannot truly expect to be an exception to the rule. However, I do truly feel that many of these institutions keep their customers in the dark because it is that much easier for them to turn you away. I understand that there are 50,000 others looking for the same retribution. However, I find it looks terrible when you see your bank getting a multi-million/billion dollar government--issued bail-out, when just the day before they denied you a basic satisfactory customer service experience. "Satisfactory" doesn't even have to mean that I get money returned to me. I simply want to deal with a human who empathizes with my situation. The stone cold faces and voices leave me ashamed for even asking in the first place.
I am so fed up with getting run around by these people. I just want to encounter someone with an honest, empathetic approach to dealing with people. I'm trying so hard... I'm a good person in a bad spot, like so many other Americans to this day. What are we going to do, if we cannot rely on anyone but ourselves? My humanitarian side just may be the death of me. Emerson, were you right? Do we walk alone?
Monday, October 19, 2009
When Randy Moss is happy, I am happy.
"Greatest Show in Snow"
Joe and I got to watch the Pats dominate yesterday. Blogging this because I need to remember what is probably the greatest shut-out ever.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Biting the hand/licking the wounds.
Reading, it seems to me, is no longer about educating oneself. No longer do we read in search of a means to empathize with the human condition, or a cure for an aching heart, or a way to enrich our minds. Novels are now marketed to various genres and classes of people. They are no longer the beautiful, prosy works of art I have come to know and love. I have become the tool through which these marketers keep their jobs.
Forced to upgrade that tall to a venti so that I can earn a measly 20 hours a week feels rather degrading, and yet, I am forced to swallow my morals for the sake of survival. The very fiber of my being is tethered to the work I do, and my belief in it. I do not believe in our capitalist idea of consumerism, this need to convince you that you need something you truly do not.
It is in vain that I "sell" $25 memberships. I do this several days each week, only to still feel that ever-familiar sinking feeling each time I sign in to check my account balance. It feels as though the only thing that has changed is my ability to deal with change itself. This is growth, of course. In spite of this, I still need to spend a few minutes each day reminding myself that I am doing the best that I can.
I cannot say I have done the most fantastic things with my life so far. Most of my decisions have not been the most economical either. And yet, I would not change the direction I have chosen. On low days I wonder if graduate school might have been a better choice in place of moving to San Diego on a whim. These feelings now quickly transitions into my intrinsic understanding that I would simply not be the Lahnna I have come to know if I did not walk the paths I have chosen.
What I may lack in formal education (which, in truth, is no more than an extra slip of paper and two more years worth of debt), I easily replace with self-knowledge and the ability to persevere in the harshest of situations. I have seen and experienced extraordinary places and people, and I want that to be the constant in my life, not this worrying over financial sickness.
Ironically, despite being the poorest I have ever been financially, I am experiencing more love than I have ever felt. The absence of an integral family member and the distance of my family as whole does not prevent this sensation from overwhelming me and rendering me speechless. Never have I been so enraptured by the people in my life. I need you all to know this. Through all of my supposed anxiety, and my moments of weakness, I still see these things you do even if you do not.
I may be somewhat jobless, and nearly destitute, but this does not stop me from remembering just how lucky I am. Money is worthless in my eyes. I despise its necessity, but I shall save the Marxist rants for another post. As I end this rather lengthy, loopy stream of consciousness, I feel nothing but love for everyone in my life.
Forced to upgrade that tall to a venti so that I can earn a measly 20 hours a week feels rather degrading, and yet, I am forced to swallow my morals for the sake of survival. The very fiber of my being is tethered to the work I do, and my belief in it. I do not believe in our capitalist idea of consumerism, this need to convince you that you need something you truly do not.
It is in vain that I "sell" $25 memberships. I do this several days each week, only to still feel that ever-familiar sinking feeling each time I sign in to check my account balance. It feels as though the only thing that has changed is my ability to deal with change itself. This is growth, of course. In spite of this, I still need to spend a few minutes each day reminding myself that I am doing the best that I can.
I cannot say I have done the most fantastic things with my life so far. Most of my decisions have not been the most economical either. And yet, I would not change the direction I have chosen. On low days I wonder if graduate school might have been a better choice in place of moving to San Diego on a whim. These feelings now quickly transitions into my intrinsic understanding that I would simply not be the Lahnna I have come to know if I did not walk the paths I have chosen.
What I may lack in formal education (which, in truth, is no more than an extra slip of paper and two more years worth of debt), I easily replace with self-knowledge and the ability to persevere in the harshest of situations. I have seen and experienced extraordinary places and people, and I want that to be the constant in my life, not this worrying over financial sickness.
Ironically, despite being the poorest I have ever been financially, I am experiencing more love than I have ever felt. The absence of an integral family member and the distance of my family as whole does not prevent this sensation from overwhelming me and rendering me speechless. Never have I been so enraptured by the people in my life. I need you all to know this. Through all of my supposed anxiety, and my moments of weakness, I still see these things you do even if you do not.
I may be somewhat jobless, and nearly destitute, but this does not stop me from remembering just how lucky I am. Money is worthless in my eyes. I despise its necessity, but I shall save the Marxist rants for another post. As I end this rather lengthy, loopy stream of consciousness, I feel nothing but love for everyone in my life.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Kickin' my brain's ass.
I gotta say, I love free downloads. Thanks for the new indie tunes, Landmark.
In other news, it is time to resume my workout schedule. I broke my streak and smoked too many cigarettes last week, leading to lung frustration, leading to Lahnna frustration. My anxiety never becomes more manageable the more cigarettes I smoke. I've gotten incredibly used to this bullshit notion that it "calms" the user down. This is a complete fallacy. The only thing smoking a cigarette does is allow the smoker to confuse necessity with desire.
I have no physical dependency on tobacco. I don't shake when I don't smoke at regular intervals. I don't get irritable. Hell, I don't even know how people find the time to smoke an entire pack in a 24-hour period. I reach for a cigarette when I'm 1. bored, or 2. telling myself that smoking one will quell my anxiety. This is an entirely mental thing and I need to stop BS-ing myself.
There are a million and one things I could be doing in place of puffing away. Art, reading, writing, looking for a job, eating ice cream, running, yoga-ing, playing Scrabble, thinking of Joe... you get it. A much more respectable agenda, don't you think? Time to log some sleep hours and get started.
In other news, it is time to resume my workout schedule. I broke my streak and smoked too many cigarettes last week, leading to lung frustration, leading to Lahnna frustration. My anxiety never becomes more manageable the more cigarettes I smoke. I've gotten incredibly used to this bullshit notion that it "calms" the user down. This is a complete fallacy. The only thing smoking a cigarette does is allow the smoker to confuse necessity with desire.
I have no physical dependency on tobacco. I don't shake when I don't smoke at regular intervals. I don't get irritable. Hell, I don't even know how people find the time to smoke an entire pack in a 24-hour period. I reach for a cigarette when I'm 1. bored, or 2. telling myself that smoking one will quell my anxiety. This is an entirely mental thing and I need to stop BS-ing myself.
There are a million and one things I could be doing in place of puffing away. Art, reading, writing, looking for a job, eating ice cream, running, yoga-ing, playing Scrabble, thinking of Joe... you get it. A much more respectable agenda, don't you think? Time to log some sleep hours and get started.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)