The Persistent Impulsive

June 21, 2007

Goddammit I hate smoking.
why do i put a drug in my body that i don't have a physical need for?
i'm not addicted to the nicotine
the first time i quit it was a piece of cake
i think smoking is purely an impulse action for me
one that shortens my life
why do that for an impulse.

i find myself acting impulsively a lot lately.
backing out on Anna,
drinking til i puke on Grandmas car,
making leap decisions,
lying.
i see my life-so-far and regret a lot.
i see a pattern in it too.
a spiral pattern of acting on negative impulses
and then retreating into the comfort of familiar settings.
one step forward, two steps back.

i started smoking again during college after getting high with Howie.
i had an impulse to have one and i bummed one.
i did the same thing when i was lonely there, and crawled back to chantelle.

all these years of acting on impulse hasn't got me anywhere but
back to where i started.

perhaps its time for a change.
maybe i should look at the big picture.
take a worldview, instead of looking for a quick fix
and then digging myself back out of the rubble



-As soon as he typed the words he knew that it was shit. It was corny and pointless. Only Joe could over analyze a private journal. Looking at the screen brought back those feelings and he felt it cover him like a wet electric blanket. He lit a cigarette and hit save.
It was shit for other reasons too. Smoking wasn't what was on his mind. It was Grandma King, and how it would kill her if his true feelings toward her were known. He should have gotten that off his chest.
The bootlicker had recently kicked him out of their house, the one she paid the mortgage on. He had lied to her about quitting his new job and went back home to the farmland of Wisconsin and the North woods. Anything not to have to confront that drunkard. They had both had enough of each other.
His big mistake was giving her ammo with which to bitch. The next time he saw the woman he'd tell her what to do with the goddamn job.
Just then, nothing happened, as usual. He sat alone in his mothers basement, in her bed, smoking her cigarettes.


-Anita didn't press him on why he was there, although her house was a bed short. Where the hell was he going to sleep? She remembered what it was like having him around, but he gave his assurances that he was only there for a few days. He promised he would stay out of her hair.
The next day he approached her in the living room and said that he was looking for a job in Rice Lake and that he'd be around awhile longer. Anita wondered at that moment if this would be the last time she would ever speak to her son.