AIMLESS

I was listening to the Beatles one Sunday morning when the world seemed to upend itself on my cigarette. I had been trying to quit it for a while at that point. The Beatles, that is. What, did you think I meant the cigarettes? No, no. The cigarettes are a necessity. To cut those out would be the metaphorical equivalent of castration. Or seppuku. Only not quite as rational as either of those things. Because when you cut your balls off or slice open your insides, you've inevitably got some pretty good reasons for doing so: either you want to sing notes too high for a normal person or you want to preserve your honor in the face of imminent death. But quitting smoking? That's just a bad idea. There are no high notes or ritualistic self-sacrifices in quitting smoking. I mean, I could understand quitting alcohol. That's just plain expensive. What is it, ten bucks a bottle? And that's for the bad stuff. If you want to be a really good alcoholic you're going to need to be making some serious bank to fund yourself. But  carton of smokes is, like, two bucks. You get to be dirt poor and find evanescent meaning in life at the same time, and all for the price of two(-ish) dollars! Besides, I've found that being rich isn't all that great anyway. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. I used to be pretty rich, don't cha know. I rolled in the BIG BUCKS. Like, I was student council president and athlete of the year in high school, even though it was the most annoying thing I've ever done. And then, at this other place called Yale, I had to deal with the most pretentious people you've ever met in your life. Dear god, the way they'd go on about being future leaders of the world or whatever. I left that place ASAP, and then I worked for this bank or whatever. But then I quit, even though I made some serious dough. Don't look at me like that. It was SO UNBELIEVABLY BORING.  Seriously, it was like spending the day washing a Prius for some fat tourist that wanted his windows cleaned with rat tears. So now I'm here. And I'm free. Come to think of it, I really only started smoking after I quit that stupid job. So I guess it was a good thing I quit; I wouldn't have found out about these little babies if I hadn't.
Wow. I went on a tangent. Let me get back to what I started with. I remember when the world flipped over 'cause, it was the most I'd thought in a while. The cigs do a pretty good job of covering me up on the "emotions and thoughts" fronts, but once in a while they break through anyway. And so one day I was listening to the Beatles one Sunday afternoon when the world just kind of flipped. Like, just completely turned over. Like, my bedsheets were floating from the ceiling and the lights glared at me from the floor and I just sat there, thinking. I thought about the fact that this was the first time I had thought in a while, and I thought about my mom, and my dad, and those phonies from Yale. I thought about cigarettes. I thought about alcohol. I thought that my tiny little life hadn't turned out the way I had thought it would. But then again, I guess I didn't really know what I expected.