Yesterday, while wandering around the house aimlessly, I felt a moment of pure clarity. It was kind of unexpected as I was in the middle of a nicotine detox sweat attack. It was almost like my Grandfather was standing there, although the thought I had doesn’t sound like him at all. He’d be more; “Get over it and go kick a ball about”.
I was feeling like I was choking. It’s amazing how dramatic I can be. All choking and taking to my bed with vapours in a way that would make Miss Melly. I wasn’t choking. I was trying to figure out a way to find the money to go and buy cigarettes because I had jumped on the forever pony and was having a fit. I was under the house, pacing back and forth when I had this image of me. I was 90. I was pacing back and forth under the house, I was clutching at my throat with one hand while rummaging through my pockets with the other looking for loose change.
I admit I didn’t even stop to think how ridiculous that was. It was how I’d be at 90 if I didn’t have a cigarette. Honestly, I’ll probably be dead long by 90 if I don’t stop smoking but that’s beside the point. To get to the point – and the thought I had – here it is;
You can complain and whinge all you like, but nothing lasts forever. Either the feeling passes or you do. If you can’t afford to give yourself happiness what use are you.
So that’s the motto for now. And that’s the point of this post.