Ambivalence? Maybe...

Misery Loves...A New Accessory
Originally uploaded by Oblivia.

Every decision I make, every day, accumulates into a notion of how I want to live my life. But my decisions are also often marked by a strong ambivalence - an ambivalence that is situated on a continuum of the important and the not-so-important - but underneath it is the desire to do something right - maybe even perfect.

Organic versus ordinary vegetables? Organic! FOX or CBC? CBC! These simple questions represent 'ideal' scenarios. I *try* but I'm human and I make less-than-optimal decisions that are driven by sometimes practical constraints. Organic stuff is expensive and supply can be unreliable. It doesn't really matter whether I watch The Simpsons on FOX or CBC.

Sometimes I am asked to take a certain course of action because that is the decision that I made...and having made that decision calls for a certain course of action. The ambivalence of not making this decision because of the possibility of failure or even being just plain wrong is fucking torture.

A case in point is smoking. I started at an age when I should already have known better. The reasons why I started and why I continued are banal in the extreme and are not worth recounting. The list is as long as church is boring.

I hate myself for doing things I know are wrong which only makes things worse and makes me less able to act. They say you only regret the things you do, not the things you don't do. I don't have a lot of regrets save for those occasions where I maintained a committment to something that I didn't continue to believe in and couldn't find it in me to draw the line and just stop. This is the point at which I am being driven by circumstance. Rather, circumstance is driving...no... riding me...like a pony at a county fair. The ambivalence is really the highest form of disregard. With it, I'm caught in a cycle of self-abuse and self-loathing.

I've always known I didn't see myself a smoker in perpetuity. There is the threat of disease which looms but doesn't loom large since I'm somewhat resigned to the idea that living seems to gives you cancer. In past attempts to quit, I've made appeals to my Higher Vanity hoping the chant of smoking is soooo bad for your skin; smoking gives you wrinkles around your lips - are you ready to watch your lipstick feather? might be enough to sway me. (OK, OK. It's funnier when I say it.) And, to top it all off, some of my best friends are smokers! It doesn't make one iota of difference to my opinion of them the way that, say, discovering they believe what Bush is doing in Iraq is morally justified might. The mere facts of the situation are just not enough. There was always something more in the mix to this habit.

And so, around midnight on Monday, I stubbed out my last cigarette and I went to bed early.

I've been quiet about it, yes. I suspect MD read through my actions - he has a habit of doing that - and saw that my recent gym efforts have been to institute a different habit before quitting the other nefarious (only marginally more smelly) habit. I haven't done anything social since that would otherwise call for a smoke like going to a bar or cafe. You will witness me bounce off the walls for craving a cigarette even as nicotine courses through my body by osmosis (gum/patch).

I am going to try NOT to be blog obsessed with this, I promise. I will ask for your indulgence in advance though when I need to vent. And if you see me start a nic fit in front of you, please, just take my hand and squeeze it for a second. I will likely register a look of shock for being so transparent and laugh. I so need to laugh.

I'm going to try this quitting thing again and you may watch me fail. But I'm going to try. The process of turning this ship around is going to be more like an ocean liner than a sailboat. This may take a little while.



**The image you see above is actually an 'imitation' Louis Vuitton cigarette pack holder I bought at a market in Seoul. What you see poking out is nicotine gum. If I have to look like a freak, I gotta be super-freaky.