Living vs. Waiting to Die
I started smoking when I was 15 or 16, I can't remember.
I really got into smoking when I was 18, a pack a day sort of living.
Then I curbed that and got down to smoking once or twice a month, only when drinking, while Tristan was in the womb and for two years after he was born. That was ideal.
I was married for awhile and when that fell apart, I realized, "Well hell, I only quit smoking to help my son and be this perfect sort of dad." Once I realized that I wasn't going to have the perfect get-married-own-a-house-have-a-bunch-of-kids-grow-old-that-way life I got back into enjoying my youth and being a bit carefree again.
Thank god. It opened me back up. I lost my big "I'm a married man" gut and started doing things again, riding my bike, playing in the backyard or going to the beach, drinking beers, smoking cigarettes.
I started smoking a lot of cigarettes.
Then I thought "I should quit this, I hear it's killing me and I don't want to be an old man dying a horrible death."
But I can't quit. And I think it's because I can't see that far into the future. In order for me to be the carefree happy-go-lucky "whatever happens right now is the important part" person that I am (or at least want to be) then I can't simultaneously be a big bad responsible member of society who's planning for his 401k and working his hamstrings off at preparing and diversifying his portfolio.
I'm by no means one tracked when it comes to my mind, but these two people—Nathan Swartz, Dad and Nathan Swartz, Himself—are just too much different people for them to be allowed to be constantly competing inside of my head.
It only leads to turmoil. Nathan Swartz, Himself is pretty confident that he can get through life without picking apart every aspect of it and deducing how that will affect his future.
So, I'm going to go have a cigarette.
I really got into smoking when I was 18, a pack a day sort of living.
Then I curbed that and got down to smoking once or twice a month, only when drinking, while Tristan was in the womb and for two years after he was born. That was ideal.
I was married for awhile and when that fell apart, I realized, "Well hell, I only quit smoking to help my son and be this perfect sort of dad." Once I realized that I wasn't going to have the perfect get-married-own-a-house-have-a-bunch-of-kids-grow-old-that-way life I got back into enjoying my youth and being a bit carefree again.
Thank god. It opened me back up. I lost my big "I'm a married man" gut and started doing things again, riding my bike, playing in the backyard or going to the beach, drinking beers, smoking cigarettes.
I started smoking a lot of cigarettes.
Then I thought "I should quit this, I hear it's killing me and I don't want to be an old man dying a horrible death."
But I can't quit. And I think it's because I can't see that far into the future. In order for me to be the carefree happy-go-lucky "whatever happens right now is the important part" person that I am (or at least want to be) then I can't simultaneously be a big bad responsible member of society who's planning for his 401k and working his hamstrings off at preparing and diversifying his portfolio.
I'm by no means one tracked when it comes to my mind, but these two people—Nathan Swartz, Dad and Nathan Swartz, Himself—are just too much different people for them to be allowed to be constantly competing inside of my head.
It only leads to turmoil. Nathan Swartz, Himself is pretty confident that he can get through life without picking apart every aspect of it and deducing how that will affect his future.
So, I'm going to go have a cigarette.
posted by ClickNathan at 11:08 AM
1 Comments:
Howabout, Nathan Swartz, 70. Carefree, self-sufficient. Walks with ease, breathes with no wheeze. Doesnt need a medical plan. Leathering brown skin from years toiling in the sun. Body of a toned 50 year old, keeps fit while tending to his land and animals so he can provide for himself and his woman.
Or Nathan Swartz, 37, rotting black lungs turned to goo. Lying in a hospital bed smoking his last cigarette out of pointless defiance. A great love affair spanning lifetimes shortened by 40 years, because of a tricky little stick.
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