This year I really need to chill out on my vices. Somewhere along the way I've (d)evolved into a certified hot ass mess. It's finally hit me that my entire existence revolves around smoking blunts, popping pills, and basically behaving like a drunken reprobate. When did it start to seem reasonable to coax myself up in the morning with a wake & bake date with my bong and the Sci-Fi channel? Followed by a dose of Adderall, a sour apple Philly, a couple Vicodins, a packet of menthols, an afternoon makeout session with some dude named Jack Daniels, a couple hearty swills from the ol' PM 'Tussin vessel, an Ambien or four at bedtime, and a double shot whisky nightcap to wash it all down.
OK sure, it's not like I'm sniffing asbestos or smoking weave glue... yet. I'm not convinced pot is a "gateway drug," but apparently I have an "addictive personality." Never mind that my brain probably closely resembles something like that of a Teenaged Mutant Ninja Retard, but I've pretty much forgotten what it feels like to wake up and get excited about the day ahead of me without relying on chemical crutches to catapult my wobbly hungover ass up. The funny thing is, it's not even exciting anymore, it's just kind of pathetic. Even my cat gives me the side eye, and she spends most of her free time lounging spread-eagle and licking her own chocha (cats have so much game it's not even funny).
So... today is day 22 of not smoking my trashy ass faux-mint flavored cigarettes. Not a puff, not a drag. Just good old fashioned cold turkey squashing the habit. That being said, it's going to be harder for me to quit choking bowls with pals, just because I genuinely relate to my fellow 'heads. We're, like, artists, man! And by artists I mean layabouts - we'd rather sigh deeply and hurl a piece of cheese at the TV in a fit of rage when the 3 a.m. BowFlex commercials start up, but still we refuse to locate the clicker from the depths of the couch cushions to switch the station. We plunge ever deeper into our nocturnal despair as we realize our view of the bottle blonde with the bulging biceps is obscured by a slice of Swiss. I've come to the conclusion this lifestyle of mine is a major hiccup in my strategy to become a wealthy gentleman's concubine of leisure, as I've gotten to the point where it's infinitely more important to get stoned and acquire an ambrosial buzz before class everyday than it is to study, stay focused, and systematically remember to apply wrinkle cream. Plus, I once read that cheese causes cellulite to flare up in the strangest of places. This saddens me A LOT.
In conclusion, my resolution for 2009: It's time for a change. YES I CAN!
P.S. Welcome to my BLOG. Oh, how I loathe that word.
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