JACK's Self Aware

I've taken to making a whole to of changes at the same time. And it seems like one of those New Year's Resolutions gone Wild, but not one thing is based on the calendar year. It's coincidental, at best. What's NOT coincidental is the fact that I'm indeed doing it all at once. Let me talk about two of them:

I Quit Smoking
When my daughter wrote "For my Family to Quit Smoking" on her little note and put it under the tree before she went to bed Christmas eve, I thought I might cry. I could just picture her writing it and really wanting me to not be a smoker. I remembered how I wanted the same thing for my mother when I was a kid and how I longed for her to quit and how she now has emphysema and is certain to succumb to it eventually ... it really struck a chord.

Once, some time between fifth and eighth grade, I took The Great America Smokeout a little bit too seriously. When I came home from school I hid all the smoking paraphernalia: cigs, lighters, matches, ashtrays ... EVERYTHING. Sometime after nightfall and before bedtime, my mother walked up to me while I was lying on the floor and grabbed my shirt collar, lifted me up off the floor a little bit and made it abundantly clear that I was soon to meet my maker if she didn't get all her stuff back. Hey - at least she made it until after dark.

I'm trying to lose weight (again)
In 2006 - I slimmed down pretty good. In fact, I lost 40 pounds! I think I might have overdone it. I probably should have only lost 25. Now that I've gained it all back, that's my goal. 25 pounds. Just so that I don't die and them bastard pallbearers don't complain about how much I fucking weigh. You know how them gays don't respect even the dead and shit ...

Conundrum
Do you know how fucking retarded it is to diet and quit smoking at the same mother fucking time? I mean, to add insult to injury, I'm working on ceasing the tomfoolery dating-ridiculous-dudes-for-the-express-purpose-of-having-something-to-blog-about nonsense that I'm NOT writing about in this post ... and so I can't even put one of THEM in my mouth ... no fucking cigarette, no damn zingers, ho hos, oatmeal cream pies, cartwheels .. or ANYTHING ...

And look, I know what I'm doing. I'm totally aware that I'm doing everything at the same time only because even if I fail at something, I still have other opportunities to find something I've succeeded at ... you know, if I have a cigarette, I can always focus on the fact that I've lost a pound or two ... or, if I hose down a top in Gun Oil, wrap him in cellophane and ride him like it's the last express train to Howard, at least I haven't had a cigarette that day ...

It's maddening that I'm totally aware of it and am still brain-fucking myself and I'm letting it work. That's some crazy shit, I swear. But let a FYNE nigga come up to me offering to face fuck me while I pump iron and totally condoning my having an afterglow cigarette to get the taste out my mouth ... and he might just get the best workin-off-all-this-tension sex he wants and more.

YEAH - I said it. AND what, mfer ... AND what?