Christmas Morning

I'm smoking again, just a little bit. Two a day, to be exact. Smoking always leads me here - unsettled as it were. The great divide of cognitive dissonance. To which I think, meh. How wonderfully human of me.

The great divide leads me to writing my soul, laying it down one letter at a time in hopes of piecing together a puzzle, but I'm trying to put together two puzzles that refuse to merge. One of g.o.d and one of... I don't know: a poor use of my time?

I will stop again - unsuccessful at having a habit of ill repute.

I wonder if Christmas is as gnawing when I don't smoke, as hard on the heart in all it's expectations of love, family, and perfection?  I strive for what I have right in front me. It's so painfully awkward and uphill.

I watched a video today about stress, about looking at stress differently, that it's the body's way of giving you the adrenaline and oxygen you need at a stressful time, it's not a bad thing. But how does that work into anxiety - the constant state of the fear of nothing. The state of your inner peace saying, "Hey, dude... you're not practicing me..."

"Fuck off," I say, but it never does.

It just parks its ass and says, "Whatever, you'll be back" as if mocking me.

It's Christmas morning. The family is just starting to wake up. At fourty-something, I am still the first awake on Christmas morning. But I'm the first awake every morning, so, really, it's just another day.

Cheers.