New  »   Gator Country  ·  Pony  ·  Sunshine Jen  ·  Post-Modern Drunkard  ·  Robot Journal
«« past   |   future »»

all comments

post #81
bio: anne

first post
that week

Previous Posts
Hello Happy Robot from 2010
Kansas City '75
Carolina Beach '07
I don't know how you scream like this without hurting yourself
I and J and tagalong K all on their way up the coconut tree.
Car ride

The Word Is . . . .
The word is


The dictionary says it's a noun

(Which confuses me all to hell, that it's a "thing" all on its own, not a verb, which I want to make it)

What it is is "the power to produce an effect".

This is what you want when trying to bring about change.
CHANGE "change"

It starts looking weird when you write it over and over like that.

Say you're a smoker- Smokey, Smokey smoke- smoke up kiddo!
And full of despair and misery and frustration over it -cause isn't it a nasty habit? Ohhh, so bad, evil, evil- and you know this, you KNOW- but somehow the knowledge makes you smoke more. And what's more -when you do, you inhale deeper-wanting to make it count, with each puff drawing the poison, deeper, deeper into your lungs.
. . . . doing this because you feel so damn crappy about smoking. and you want to quit, and you've tried, yes you've tried so, many, many times before, and failed.. "No Hope" you'll think there's no hope . .. . and see right there- there's the "problem"- missing that there "efficacy"

Yes. If you're not able to quit, right then- feeling bad about smoking, will make you smoke more. Partly to punish yourself, for being such a fucking weakling AND a moron AND someone who should never, ever, ever have been trusted with this precious gift we call LIFE- but also because you love it. You LOVE those damn cigarettes and the world wants you to stop and while you can disagree with the world on many topics (politics, religion, pop culture)- as far as smoking goes, there's too much evidence/ science and all (those fucking scientists)- but it is your love. Doesn't love count for anything, anymore?

Love, love, love. The idea of leaving your love . . .

But, does your love, love you? There's a question. Who cares? He's there.
Although, it's true, he's often distant- his mind far off- busy work- pre-mature wrinkles, and flipping switches on cell growth- but he SHOWS UP and doesn't that count? How often can you say that about anyone, anything?

So, you buy the high end, top shelf brand (why not?) Why "efficicate" a long, drawn out, humiliating death with shitty-ass, off-brand floor sweepings?

And you hide and you sneak and you stand out in the freezing cold. You avoid the topic with people near and dear to you. (Which makes you feel all that more horrible and alone- which makes you smoke more.)

And with every new person you meet, you smile and nod, but cringe under the certainty "they know" and while they're smiling and nodding- you're positive they can't wait to get away from the filthy, filthy ugly thing that sits there before them (she thinks that double-mint gum is fooling me. Ha! LIAR!)

And you know you have to quit. You know you must change. You consider it. You visualize a world without those cigarettes (or that booze, or that cheeseburger- or that cozy, comfortable, grounding hatred of one's ex). And when you do, when you really get that world in your head . . . you feel the floor falling out from beneath you. You're overwhelmed with that going down in an elevator feeling- falling somewhere. No time to look- it's human instinct to grab out. You lose your balance you reach for whatever's closest to you . . . and more times than not, it's that thing . . . whatever it is- that One that makes you despise your very existence.

Which sucks.

But then there's "efficacy"!

The all-around, change, bring abouter!

Unless you're blessed enough to drink/or smoke/ or eat/ or hurt enough, enough already- ENOUGH to say "O.K.! Done! . . . Unless you're lucky (or unlucky- what we're talking about here- by definition must be extreme) - to have some sort of wildly life altering epiphany, what you're going to have to do is work on that IDEA that you can change. . That you have the power to effect your own life (not control- that's another blog topic)- but impact.

(I've had a few epiphanies- but they came late and hard . . . and didn't cover all the territory I'd have wished them to. Really, quite frankly completely over-rated)

. . . you're going to have to look at "efficacy". Seriously, you need a floor to walk on. (You think you don't have time to waste- "working on working" towards that someday change, but you're wrong. You have as much time to waste working up towards the capacity for change as you have time to despise yourself and make the people who love you pay (f'ing idiots) for this F'd up F'd up damn----- Who Are They?- and whatever, and THIS IS MINE- my, deep, deep maladaptive- you know.

So, having said all that, I'm perversely fond of New Years and the idea of New Years resolutions . . . I've been working on my most recent batch since early this fall.

If I were to fulfill all of them, I'd be too powerful and great to live- someone would be forced to assassinate me. (And live a long painful life, regretting the beauty and truth they'd extinguished from this world- how could I wish that on any one?)

A year ago, today- my children and I were living in my parent's basement. My parent's have a beautiful fluffy white Persian cat. She's evil incarnate- a voodoo queen reincarnated. While I reeled over the "smack in the face- wall" of a life long above average- underachiever, who thinks just because she's finally made a decision about what she wants to do with her life- all will be cake -Anatomy and Physiology 101.

. . . . this nasty mean, full of herself cat, would sneak down and spray ("spray"- not pee- which makes one wonder about the nature of male and female and ownership, and personality vs. biology- and ain't it all pretty damn, wild? And if it weren't so obnoxious I could probably appreciate it more) . . . on my children's blankets.

Efficacy- for better or worse- I resolve in the year 2004, to never again live in my parent's basement and to never allow a gorgeous evil voodoo Persian to "smug" all over my or my children's belongings. I'm pretty sure I can do that- and if I can do that, I can do Anything!

Was this inspiring? I meant it that way.
I really do wish you all a happy, happy, happy New Year.

«« past   |   future »»