Making the machine go up

Or down

Or wherever you want it to go

I want it to go up.

I looked through all my books and tried to reconcile with the girl that I used to be, before I became calloused.  The water should not have sifted me so; the salt should not have made my skin so raw.  And yet, I’m thrown upon this shore with my exterior smoothed over the way it should be.

Should it be that I go up,

Or go down?

The elevator is so large.  I am the only one in it.  The walls are not covered in material or pictures that you might find on a hotel or school elevator.  It is steel.  It is someone’s job to polish this steel, and I thank God that it is not mine.  But it could be.  I could go down.  I hear the gears, I feel the pull, and my head hurts.

Yesterday you told me that you loved me and that you wanted me to be happy.  You think that working in an office, wearing a suite, making money and enough money to live comfortably, will make me happy.  I told you that any decent paying job would not necessarily make me happy.  I don’t like being poor all the time.  I can go a week without spending more than ten dollars.  I can regulate my heat and electricity so that my utility bills won’t exceed my paycheck.  And, after all this, I can barely make rent.  The stem of this tree goes way down.  The roots spread out like a map, their age giving them dignity and complexity.  This is how I would like to think of myself: an ageless tree full of life.  But I am reminded by you and by what you say is love, that my wisdom is immaturity.  My weapons don’t work against a man with a chisel that made sparks and created an elevator, an elevator that won’t stop going up.

I pushed the button.  I am responsible for the ascension.  What I know I am not responsible for is the man and the chisel.  I did not want men to come into this world and create a place for me to make such a decision.  I did not want men to make a map of how I should live my life, of how you tell me and your love tells me I should survive in this world.  I want my map of roots while he insists on gears, cords and steel.

I believe that within all of us there is a need to flee.  If I could count all the times when I said, “Let’s just go.  Let’s go to the mountains somewhere and build a house and shoot deer and eat deer and never come back,” then I would be quite tired of counting.  We all do this.  Instead of thinking of it as a negative thing, I want more impulsiveness.  I don’t possess it anymore.   Chained down my series of responsibilities, actions and consequences, I am standing in an elevator going up.

At times like this, I wonder why I am so honest with my parents.  The complications are as follows: I can’t afford to live on my own. My job only pays about 300 a week.  My rent is 500, and then I have to pay AT&T, the gas bill, and the electric bill.  Also any other bills (gym, credit card, etc) that may come up.  Now, I have to pay for health insurance.  For those of you who do not have to pay for individual health insurance, the payment is usually anywhere from 200-600 a month.  After realizing the Blue Cross Blue Shield wouldn’t take care of my mental health because it is a pre-existing condition, we had to look back on my last plan…and take up their offer on COBRA.  COBRA is the insurance that you get once you go off a group insurance plan.  It can last for 3 years, and is hell-a expensive.  However, paying for my Lexapro out of pocket (about 200 bucks each refill) would end up costing me more than COBRA.  The reason why my parents know anything about this is because I can’t afford it on my own.  I am ashamed.  I am a 26 year old womyn who cannot take care of herself.   And what do I have to say for myself?   “I’m sorry.”

Time and time again my generation is being told that it’s not their fault.  We did everything we were supposed to do, but the economic climate is different.  And apparently we are not to blame.  But, I ask, how can we not feel guilty?  In order to become successful we put an enormous strain on our guardians, our friends who make more than we do, and ourselves.

And Blue Cross Blue Shield seems to think that I don’t need my anti-depressants.

The amount of stress and strain put upon us makes it quite difficult to function as is.  What can we make of society?  First, it drives us mad, and then punishes us for being unorthodox.  Now is the time for thinking outside of the box.  Actually, fuck the box, let’s make it look more like an octagon.  Now, let’s think outside the Octagon.  A “box” implies that there are four sides and four right angles.  Something so straightforward no longer applies to anything that my generation is experiencing.  All the angles are obtuse, and in trying to escape, we run into many walls.  At this point you would think that we’re permanently brain damaged from all the concussions…if not all the booze we consume so that we don’t have to think about our lives.

My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony.

And so here are my complaints.  And I know so many similar stories.  But, at this juncture, I don’t think complaints and voices are enough.  At this point, I don’t even think voting is enough.  We need real action.  Now, I know that no one is going to give up their health insurance if they have it, or their comfortable jobs.  But, it’s time to start passing around notes at least. If you have a medication and you can’t afford it, go to the website.  Find the med’s provider, go to their website, and look for the patient help application.  Fill the application out, go to your doctor, have them sign it, and send it in.  If you are approved, the company will help you pay for your medication.  If you are against medications, all the better: BOYCOTT!   Homeopathic remedies are becoming increasingly popular. I use them quite frequently for colds and allergies.  We have the internet now, which is a useful source of empowerment for people who want to look up herbal remedies.

But we need to be more vocal about our situations.  Don’t be embarrassed anymore.  No one can blame you (except yourself) for still being dependent on your parents, for not making enough money, for not getting the medical help you need, or the emotional support that you need.  But don’t just complain.  Be constructive.  Force the people listening to you to be more constructive.  If you find creative solutions to your dilemmas, share them.  I mean, you post on Facebook, don’t you?  If you’re friends are real friends, they’ll applaud your progress and perhaps add their two cents.  Come on people, we’re past the point of squared solutions.

You know what I want?  I want a community of outrageous artists and political leaders who educate one another.  I would love to take part in a school of thought and expression; a place that teaches others how to effectively communicate their thoughts.  The forms, in my head, are writing, visual art, dance, and theater.  The instructors are not only art teachers, but teachers of philosophy, theory, and politics.  The aim would be to speak loudly and to be heard.

That’s my prayer for the New Year.

I would love to tell you that I’ve gone without a single cigarette.  I did, however, have one.  It tasted horrible.  So, I haven’t had another one since.  That’s complete progress if you ask me.  It’s a remarkable feat when you get far enough into the quitting process that one digression reminds you why you quit in the first place.

But, I’m hear to mention a new topic: electronic water vapor cigarettes.  They are supposed to be used for quitting.  I bought one so that if I was REALLY tempted, I could have a nicotine boost without any carcinogens.  However, for a few days I always wanted to smoke the damn electronic cigarette.  Here’s a list of pro’s and con’s that I made.

PRO E-CIG:

No carcinogens

No smell

You can smoke indoors

Better for your health than actual cigs

They’re kind cool

CON E-CIG:

You can get addicted to them

The e-cig gets kinda hot

The nicotine still gives you health problems

Suspicious atomizer

Because you are still getting your dose of nicotine and, in action, smoking, chances of lapsing are probably greater

Con’s outweigh pro’s in my opinion.  Everyone quits differently, but electronic cigarettes are probably not the best way to be rid of the TWIGS OF DOOM.  The patches worked for me because they did not imitate smoking.  I learned to live without putting a cigarette up to my mouth.  I believe that in order to exorcise the addiction from your brain, it is necessary to do things differently.  Actually, if you want to seriously quit, I would suggest the following site: becomeanEX.org.  The commercials are silly, I know.  But they really have the right idea.

All in all, I am really proud of myself.  I do miss cigarettes, of course.  I think I will miss them for a very, very long time.  My plan is to wait until I’m so old that I don’t need to exercise or worry about my health anymore and then pick back up the nasty habit.  Until then, I like to be able climb stairs without panting heavily.

Why was there nothing else to drink?  Well, I had intended to stop and grab some champagne after work yesterday.  However, my car died in the Target parking lot.  I sat in the lot for about 15 minutes trying to rev up the engine until panic hit me.  It was about zero degrees outside, 5pm, and New Year’s Eve.  Who the hell was gonna be open?  I called my friend, Seun, who came out within 15 minutes to help me.  We tried to get the car to work, which it did for about 5 minutes.  I finally called the body shop that fixed my car after my last collision with a 19 year old who couldn’t drive.  They called a tow truck for me.

We sat in Seun’s car forever, but he is extremely entertaining company.  The tow company called me about an hour later and informed me that they would charge about $150 dollars.  Insane.  Seun grabbed the phone from me and tried to haggle down the price, unsuccessfully as you can imagine.  Instead we tried driving my car to the body shop.  It died less than a mile from Target.  He pushed the car to a parking spot (those huge Nigerian muscles do come in handy), and we left it there.  What will conclude will have to wait until this damned holiday weekend is over.

I am proud of myself that I didn’t beg him to take me to a gas station to buy a pack of Camel Lights.  Instead he drove me home and repeatedly told me not to worry about the car, and even devised a plan to get it fixed.  Damn, I wish all people in life could be that helpful.

So, no champagne for Maggie.  Instead, I have a vodka hangover.  I also didn’t get up until 3:30pm.  My Friday is wasted on exhaustion.  In my drunken haze I believe I did eat a bit to much to deal with the nicotine cravings…like…a bag of chips and hummus…and a bagel.  But, whatever, I plan on renewing my gym membership since it’s too freezing to run outside.

The next hump to get over is celebrating my birthday at a bar on Saturday without a ciggie.  And, yes, I can do it.

Happy New Year to everyone!  I hope it will bring new opportunities and joy into your life.  And I sincerely hope that we can all work toward our dreams, and do it with mindfulness and love in our hearts.

I think I just made myself vomit in my mouth a little bit.

Namaste,

Mags

of this:

The sad part is that I could totally eat more.  No cigarettes = gluttony. Ummm I need a new hobbie.

Lesson three of quitting: ALWAYS CARRY PAIN KILLERS.

The first entirely stressful event happened today since I quit.  And, of course, what did I want to do?  I wanted to smoke smoke smoke.  I didn’t.  Please applaud.  Instead, I started crying.  Not sure if I prefer crying (I don’t at all actually), but I suppose it’s healthier…?  I would like to find something more constructive than turning into a blubbering baby.  But,  I suppose stress of no cigarettes compiled with the stress of STRESS just made me explode.  Needless to say, it was embarrassing.

I don’t have much of a lesson about that one.  Just…be prepared to cry I suppose.  Not much of an unexpected occurrence.

And now I will leave you with a very disturbing vintage cigarette advertisement.

Sincerely,

Your favorite cry baby.

Anyway, a friend of mine advised that I cut them in half.  I was about to do so, but my Father (because he is insistent that he knows everything) demanded that I use the entire patch, pointing at the words which read “DO NOT CUT PATCH” on the box.  So, I slapped an entire patch on my right upper arm.  About 1/2 an hour later I got nicotine poisoning.  Basically, I wanted to pass out and puke at the same time.  I couldn’t even stand up.  I removed the damned thing and cut it in half.  Within an hour, I just took it off.  There was way too much nicotine in my system to even go out to dinner with my family.  What worked best for the remainder of the night was a third of a patch.  The next day, duly noted Jennifer, I cut the poisonous patch in half.

Lesson one of quitting: CUT THE NICOTINE PATCH

I am cranky.  And when I say CRANKY, I mean cranky.  I arrived home this evening and our (Anna and I) smoker friends did not finish my cigarettes.  Now I know why people flush them down the toilet.  It’s not so that other people can’t smoke.  It’s for two reasons: people are unreliable, especially smokers; and, the sight of a cigarette on day three without a cigarette is just unbearable.  What made it even more frustrating is that one flush didn’t eliminate the enemy.  I almost (ALMOST) considered reaching in there to pick up the soggy cigarette.  However, my brain told me to piss on it.  So, I did.  I may be crazy, but I’m not going to smoke a soggy urine cigarette.  The second flush got rid of most of it, except for a few tobacco pieces floating around.  I am trying to think of them as pieces of shit until I have to use the toilet again.

Lesson two of quitting: FLUSH THE REMAINING CIGARETTES DOWN THE TOILET.

Apologies to my friends who are conscientious about water conservation and pollution.  I felt like a bad treekid today, but…those kinds of sacrifices HAD to be made…or at least they did in my mind at day three without a cigarette.

Yours truly,

Cranky Ass

This presents me with a new kind of blog.  I dare say that the general use of the blog on the web has gone through a major transition in the past several years.  It began as an on line journal, if I remember correctly.  Now it seems to be the new form in which everything appears from movie reviews to political commentary.  The argument has been made that “now anyone can be a critic.”  Well, everyone has always been a critic.  The difference now is the extent to which everyone can make their critiques public.  Everyone is a critic because everyone has turned their blog into mini newspaper.

I attempted to write a book review site, but now that I am quite sick of hearing everyones’ damn opinion on every novel, novella, short story, or poem, I QUIT.  I would say that it’s back to the on line journal, but I’m not even sure about that.  I suppose the best thing to do is to make it a free-form blog.  I’ll share my thoughts and experiences with you as they come and as they are prevalent.

Lots of transitions in my life have occurred.  I will share them with you soon.

FEAST YOUR EYES ON THAT.

My car is now obsolete.  And whose fault is it?  Nature’s.  Is it good karma, or bad karma I ask you?  I’m alive = good.  My car is dead = bad.  God called and she was obviously trying to tell me something.

I am kidding, of course. I am more important than my now deceased Saturn Ion.  I’m pretty grateful to be alive at the moment.  And I have a new appreciation for my recent healthy obsession with Lily Allen.  Why be ashamed?  She’s British.  She’s cute. 

Someone pass me a napkin?  I just drooled a bit.

In better, less pop-music-y, news: I got a full-time job in Chicago finally.  I am moving closer to BBT (Bare Boned Theatre) so I can continue to write for them. YAY!  I am excited about the move. I love Chicago…even if it is freezing there…

I finished reading The Watchmen.  I liked it…I think…I don’t really know.  The concept of reading a book with pictures of characters who are talking is a bit surreal for me.  It’s just the visual age.  People can’t create images in their head from words on a page, they have to see it.  This new concept of the graphic novel (of course it’s not that new at all, but it is to me) makes me sad.  But I have to admit that The Watchmen is a good story.  I can’t imagine that the movie is any good though; I don’t see how it could work.

See: Dr. Manhattan is sad that Hollywood has ruined his reputation. 

WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE AN ORIGINAL FUCKING MOVIE?!  I am sick of all these adaptations.

I have been all over the place lately – physically and mentally.  I find myself constantly en route to Chicago or to Lansing.  It’s a four hour drive that I can now do without batting an eye.  And yet, I’m quite aware that every time I travel I am upping my chances of a car accident.  Or, the fact that my mother is aware of this is making me more aware of it.  Familia Paranoia – is it contagious?  What is happening are two things: I write for a small theatre in Chicago AND I am searching for a job there.  I think some of you may sort of understand how important it is to me to keep up with my commitment to the theatre, but, no, you really have no idea.  It’s important enough that I am willing to drive back and forth constantly – that’s all any of you can really gather.  It’s an amazing experience for me – that much (I’m sorry, but) you cannot fathom.

Three of my friends have passed away in the last few months.  One I only met the other weekend at a party, and a day later he was gone.  Not much time to allow for any kind of attachment, but I did feel shock.  It’s quite complicated for me to wrap my head around it.  One day someone is having conversations about religion, philosophy, and film; they are making jokes, laughing, genuinely interested in everyone around them.  The next day, they have taken their own life.  It’s almost impossible for me to grasp at this moment.

I am entering a new part of my life.  People are getting married.  People are dying.  My thoughts are more lucid and I can articulate them much more clearly than I ever could.  Not to mention that I can articulate them to complete strangers at times.  Have I really spent that much time in my life not talking?  Or, maybe I can just hear myself these days. I haven’t written a blog like this in ages and don’t worry, I won’t do it too often.  My life just seems to be in upheaval. it’s not good, it’s not bad, it’s just a bit scary.

Stay tuned for more productive stuff when I have the time and the energy.