When kneeling is better than standing on your own two feet.

Firstly let me assure you that the title of this piece in no way insinuates that I spent a brief time in early youth living in Eastern Europe working as a fluffer on a Swedish porn set. The title also does not infer that this will be a religious piece although ironically it starts out with a confession.


I am an idiot. Although to my merit I am a gifted idiot. 10 years ago I had the world at my feet. Since then I have technically fulfilled all the requirements of my original 5 year plan. But in a tale as old as time, where fulfilment had been planned only severe dissatisfaction stood. For as you may recall 5 year plans often changed to 10 year plans, which meant my ten year plans were delayed quite severely.

I believe my dissatisfaction may have had to do with the fact that my ten year school reunion was later this year. Yes I know it sounds ridiculously Hollywood fetish sized, and a little petty, but I am sure I would have loved to go back, into that bloodthirsty arena of semi formed people, which was highschool and internally gloat regarding how much more awesome my life was than, “Jimmy” that bullied me or “Mindy” who left me for him.*

Unfortunately I was half way down my 10 year plan and therefore my chopper entrance at the reunion would have to be replaced with me hoping my old beat up Peugeot would make it all the way back to my hometown, which was all but a millionty billionty miles away.

Realising that I was not going to be able to acquire the necessary finances or skills to pilot my own chopper in a three month period, I decided to make due with putting together a three month personal improvement programme, a list I like to call the “patchtheholesoflosthopesanddreamswitheasilyattainableshorttermgoals” list or “phlhdeastg” list, which is pronounced with a silent k.

This list included just one topic, become roughly more responsible. Which seems like a nice short list of one non descript items, easily achievable by justification. For example, I have stopped drinking beer and therefore am roughly more responsible. To which my friends would exclaim that I never drank beer. To which I would rebuke there's a good reason why.

Below is a breakdown of what I imagined would fall under this broad topic.
• Get healthier aka join a gym
• Stop smoking
• Get your own apartment, no more flatmates. (unless sexy swimsuit model)
• Drink less and all the unhealthy things that usually accompany that activity that may be considered morally offensive.
• Stop eating everything within line of sight and things you are imagining in your head while eating everything within line of sight.

So I embarked on this voyage of ineptitude. I joined the gym and quit the smoking, and this is what happened.

Catastrophic implosion of everything I thought I knew about myself. Gym proved I was indeed as out of shape as I had imagined, but not admitted, and smoking was in fact not a bad habit but indeed my entire personality.

Apparently to me cigarettes were not a crutch and removing them did not cause me to just hobble along like someone with a sprain. Removing cigarettes was like chopping off my legs, tying them to rapid dingoes and chasing them into an Australian brush fire.

I was, just before quitting cold turkey, smoking around the region of 35 - 40 cigarettes a day. Which means smoking had become a full time occupation as that meant I smoked for over 200 minutes a day, just under three and a half hours.
Plainly this was not just a case of nicotine addiction, but something much, much worse. I started smoking before I opened my eyes in the morning, I smoked with my coffee, I smoked with my booze, I smoked when I stressed, I smoked when I was angry, sad, hungry, tired, not tired, I smoked in celebration, I smoked when I had successfully taken a crap.

I was a giant smoky ball of discontent and after 10 years the cracks were starting to show. So I quite, causing my entire support structure to fall out from underneath every aspect of my life, leading to a massive burnout about a month and a half into quitting, including severe depression, panic attacks and feeling like a truck drove over my head.

A month and a half? Wait aren’t withdrawal symptoms suppose to end two weeks after you quit?
That’s what I thought, but let me lay some science on your ass. (That’s what she said? Wait what?) Serotonin. Or in layman’s (what she said...) terms, the lubricant(oh no...) of the brain(saved).
Recent studies have shown that cigarette smoke, not the nicotine, the smoke, contains chemicals that function as antidepressants or mood stabilisers, the exact same thing serotonin is suppose to do. So cigarettes are a highly carcinogenic anti depressant I had been self medicating with for over ten years.

The more I smoked the less serotonin my brain produced, the more I smoked. So quitting cold turkey meant my brain had gone from being a well synthetically-oiled machine, to being as effective as spitting on one of those scrubbing sponges and trying to sand down a Sherman tank into a toothpick.

Well I’m better now, I just don’t sleep as well and my brain feels dry, but this is also progressively getting better. How? Zyban or more specifically it’s big brother Wellbutrin. A mood stabiliser, which according to my MD I should have started taking 2 weeks prior to quitting not a month and a half after. Yes I am on mood stabilisers, which (predominately to my pride)makes me feel like I should be in a loony bin.

This of course I have realised is me once again being dramatic, which I tend to be, it’s what make me so damn cute.

Not being able to handle life occasionally is apparently natural. Or as my dad always says “although life is hard, it has always been very popular” I have since then realised everyone I know has been on some form of support in some way,shape or form, be it drinking too much, or smoking or straight up Prozac.

If you have read to here, we finally get to the point I have been trying to make. Next time you are thinking of making a mayor life change, don’t be too proud to ask for help and if life drops you to your knees, take it with as much grace as possible. Get back up and come out swinging.


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ADDENDUM:

I wrote this months ago, since then everything has gotten better. I have reached a level of normality, which a few months ago seemed like something I had lost forever. Yay for relative normality!

*please note that the real names of these individuals have been changed to avoid me using the c-word prolifically. Just for clarity sake I am refering to clubsoda.

Owning the title

I often get befuddled looks when I am asked what I do for a living. For using the exact terminology makes those not in “the business” of advertising often confuse copywriter with copyright.

Sending them into grand visions of me burning © onto the later part of a logo, with a crazed look in my eye, like a ranch hand who has been snorting the horse tranquilisers.

I is so wasted...I can't feel your legs.

Of course they are not far off the mark. Usually my area of expertise lies just under the circled c in the form of magnificent bullshit. The crazed look remains however just to confuse my client’s into thinking there is still passion behind the facade, though mostly it is just general confusion mixed with contempt for shooting down your 7th precariously thought out concept.
It is in the spirit of transparency that I usually therefore answer the question of my undertaking, by stating that I bullshit for a living.

My cow goes BOOOO!

Although this self scathing joke does produce a chuckle from those trying to be kind, it too does not fall far from the mark.

It was when I was contemplating why I seemed to disvalue my chosen profession that I realised my subconscious was indeed verbalising itself quite openly.

I, being a retired, self proclaimed, deep thought practitioner, donned my magnificent cape of ineptitude, boots of personal maw insertion and LvL 34 dwarven armour of tongue lashing wit and immediately set to work, overcomplicating my subconscious’ scarce moments of honesty.

Unfortunately I left my garter belt of linear reasoning at your mom’s place over the weekend.

Still boldly on I push into the obscurity that is my reasoning. If you are ever looking for my reasoning you will probably find it perched precariously over my general disgust. Hanging on by its tiny little claws like an angry flock of kittens to a 10:1 scale model of a tribble.



*I believe that my limited respect for my toil comes from the distinct lack of sweat on my brow, along with the feeling that somewhere, someone else, is doing something of great importance.

Worst yet that if I were to spring into action, I fear I may be too late. Missing the main event by a couple of decades ,like an attempt to win 2006’s amazing race tomorrow without ever being invited to the show.

This I believe may be a feeling that most of my generation may feel akin too. Let me explain.

I have long struggled to find the right word for the state of mind of our generation. The generations, before mine, seemed to have little trouble finding a defining term to describe the age in which they lived.

The swinging 60’s for obvious hippie induced reason. The roaring 40’s, the golden age of modern times where the word wholesome carried some weight. The dark ages, not the best of times but descriptive none the less.

Grrrrrrr. You can be my dinosaur.

Individual groups also seemed to be able to define themselves clearly, hippies, yuppies, baby boomers. A kinship with their respective eras and conviction.

We have given up on being creative and have hit up the alphabet as a muse, generation X,Y,Z. Roman numerals or Morse code is surely next.

We have emos, hipsters and scene (which I do not believe has a plural) the intermingled, inbred bastard offspring of cultural groups that were already watered down when they emerged.

Scenes .If only it was a singular problem.

People trying to define themselves and provide purpose to their lives by creating social groups, bound together by referencing obscure pop culture phenomenon. Yes Twilighters, Trekkies and Bluecatpeople enthusiast out there are coming together in droves. Online and sadly in the real world too.

"This picture made my balls cry" - SSB

Today’s offices, filled with job titles that would be completely irrelevant when stranded on a desert island. I would very much like to see you shoe your horse with clever marketing jargon, brainstorm yourself a hut or synergise the catch of the day.

With our powers combined. FISH!

We have explored the planet’s surface, driven to the poles, climbed the highest mountains – build resorts on them – swam the deepest sea – build a resort under it. Those of us who have a genetic inclination to exploration have been reduced to guided tours, phrasebooks and /b/ to explore new and strange cultures and “discover” the world.

Seriously, that IS a hotel under the ocean...

Real, meaningful jobs that contribute to society in a positive way are dying out. Blacksmiths use to make horseshoes because they were needed at the time, potters made pots, soldiers made war all of them as much as was needed. Supply and demand ruled as it does today, accept now we make the demand by controlling the supply. Ask Steve jobs why white I-phone4’s will only be coming out next year.

No caption needed.

But I digress. Our generation has it better than any before, we have the worlds knowledge at our fingertips, instant gratification for everything from hunger to sex.
Thank you MacDonald’s and Eastern Europe.

McHottie?

Yet our generation is confused about where we stand when asked to define ourselves because we do not want to admit that we have nothing new to talk about, nothing new to explore, no great needs, no great challenges.

In short we have been handed a life of leisure on a silver Xbox and are mostly driven by accumulating more stuff than the Joneses, that we buy things that we don’t need but want because the marketing jargon spewing spin doctors have us sucking on the teat of consumerism.

This problem of not having any real problems, compared to say, the slums of New Delhi, is a very generationally bound issue. Not because there were never elitists just that stuff is cheaper and we have ALL of it.

You disagree? What's your BB pin again? BAM! Lawyered!

The definition that seems to elude this generation is actually very simple. Our lifestyle has led us to become dulled, satiated by overindulgence. Our sense of self worth worn out and wearied. Our spirit dissipated.

We are without a doubt a vast legion of the most JADED people ever to have walked on the crust of this giant spinning roundabout of DOOOOM!

Time to start owning up to it ladies and gentleman.

Welcome to the JADE-Generation©

Exactly like this. But with none of the inner peace.

*Disclaimer: At this point let me make it clear that for the purposes of this following debate I am almost exclusively focusing on middle class individuals, who were born in the time of the digital revolution.

Any 3rd world countries or war torn regions I am about to sound like an arrogant and blissfully ignorant, posh little twat. For that I apologise. This debate will make you want to slap me with a frozen tuna, rather eat the tuna, you are in a war zone and sashimi is delicious.