Another year, another family gathering, it's kinda strange observing family members awkwardly interacting...by force of the tradition. No one actually wants to be there. No one. I don't mean to bitch, but this year's fest was the almest of all my christmas experiences. And I know it's something that I'll just need to get used to - because of dietary restrictions on someone using a drug like Parnate to control their depression. Turkey? Nope, can't eat that no more. Chicken salad? Unless the chicken was slaughtered that very day and then processed and all that shit and then shredded, I could have eaten that, but no, there's mayo in that dish, a big no-no.
Ah, whatever, I just ate the raw materials of a spectaular dish, you know? Like eating a cake, but this way - first you'll eat 500 grams of flour. Just flour. Then, you'll scramble some raw eggs and drink them, and then you'd add milk, and if you're not vomiting at this stage, you, sir, are a freak. Or a winner. I can't decide.
But that was the deal- I ate all vegetables that would make a kickass chicken salad, but that was it. No meat, no mayo. At least I could have them fries along. But seeing people go at that turkey, that was painful to watch. I felt like the fucking vegan at the aprty, you know, and the worst thing, a forced vegan.
"- Would you like some beer?"
"- No thanks, I can't drink. In fact, if I had a glass of that dark, seemingly delicious beer, I'd die."
Forced vegan. And me, a hater of those people. Yeah, I hate 'em. We are fucking predators. We need meat. We need protein! Fuck the process, chicken going crazy on a confined space, or cage, whatever. I don't care. They're my prey. I didn't have to hunt for them, no, because a lot has changed since the fucking stone age. We don't have to hunt for them, we pick them up at supermarkets and pay for men to do the dirty work for us. Yeah, it's true. No one slaughters a live chicken no more, nor yank its feathers out, or whatever. We just pay by the weight.
And thank whatever deity you'd care to worship, for that. Can you imagine life 40 years ago? People stored meat in pig's lard. In a can. People have no refrigerators, not on my country, no.
And you look upon that and call us savages for eating a fucking burguer? Go fuck yourselves. I am, like I said before, an almost full-time forced vegan. Can't eat cheese, or milk that beyond two weeks old, can't eat a fucking pizza. On the bright side, though, There was a party I was invited, y'know, the traditional "End of the Year" party at the office. For the first time, I could say, "No, I can't go." - "Why?" - everyone knows me, the true answer is, "I don't give a fuck about you people and I want to stay away from you as far as possible." But this year! This year I go, "No, I won't be attending, I'm sorry, but I just can't eat anything you'll be serving." and to that I added mentally, "and I don't give a fuck about you people and I want to stay away from you as far as possible."
Anyhow, I wouldn't submit myself to this kinda torture. There was a barbecue. I fucking love barbecue. Can I eat it? No, unless the cow jas just been shot and we're making a roast, like savages, while chanting some "bring on the rain" dance.
This is fucking bullshit. No barbecues, never again! Fuck!
Well, to be honest, I wouldn't give two shits about it if the medication was truly working....but I know it is, I just know it. But sometimes I lose my grip yet. It was a bad christmas. Not bad as in, "Oh I wanna die" bad. But I was fucking bored. And when I'm bored, I do stupid stuff, specially if you're high as fuck on the ol' Maria Joana. I managed to destroy the SIM card reader on my used, yet brand new phone, voiding the 90-day warranty and making a fool outta myself. Luckily, those readers are cheap and easy to replace, so I ordered a new SIM/SD block and I will fix it.
But I felt like such a fool. And I know now,it's because I smoke these doobies like there's no tomorrow. And I know I shouldn't be mixing Parnate and marijuana for such long periods of time. It fucks it all up.
Well, 2014 was one fucking shitty year, probably number one or two on my top five all-shitty years. But one thing I can say, my resolution for 2014, as simple and mundane as it seems - to get back on shape - was accomplished, even though it took me nearly seven to eight months to really start working out again. I did it. I achieved my goal, however futile it seems.
For 2015, I'm thinking on quitting smoking, legal or non-legal stuff, all of it. No more smoke on these already damaged lungs of mine. And no weed "gaaaaaaahhhhhh...." effect also. When you melt down and fuse your chair, sofa, whatever, and you just sit there, eating shit and watching shit. Shit that you won't even remember correctly. Not if you're a fucking stoner like I am.
Well, that's my goal for 2015, if I can think of one. And fuck me, believe I tried, but once again, I have to cite my favourite film quote about smokers, off from Sin City(the first one) - "Nobody really quits...a smoker's a smoker whenever the chips are down...."
Yeah, well, I know my chips haven't been up. At least not up to no good. I still have a lot of problems to deal with, and antidepressant or not, they're out there, like fucking monsters, awaiting for me to slay, conquer them somehow.
Or just fail, like I got used to. Then you light up a doobie, make some coffee and smoke a fag.
Until the day you die.
