sorry it’s a mess andetc

Download: F13-ENG23000_Vanessa-Change

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You know the sound of a slot machine after you’ve won and there is an overflow of coins just tumbling out of it? That was the sound of a guy furiously searching his pockets a foot away.

Men have this complete and utter refusal to put their change anywhere but in their pockets. It’s a phenomenon to women who carry around large wallets with roomy coin pockets, or who have a separate coin purse altogether.

This is a subject that always seems to frequent conversations with friends after they walk out of the store just having purchased something. Some men are fascinated that women keep their change. They are fascinated that we utilize coin pockets and invest in coin purses. Women are fascinated that men either don’t take their change, don’t have coin pockets in their wallets, or simply just drop their change into the pockets of their jeans.

Women tend to be more careful than men are. The idea of leaving money in open pockets without the security of zippers does not ever seem to be comprehensible to us.

We see bulky wallets outlined in the back pockets of men’s jeans and momentarily gawk. We gawk not at the size of the wallets, but we gawk in wonder of how unsafe the practice of leaving one in open reach is. We see men in raw denim jeans with holes where their wallets are, showcasing the weathered leather or designer branding when we shouldn’t have to know what their wallets look like unless they’re paying for dinner.

Perhaps women are floored by such a practice of men dealing with their money so carelessly because we simply don’t have the same means to carry our own in such a way. Pockets in skirts and dresses are rare, and often for novelty’s sake. Pockets in pants and jeans are thin and many times smaller than the size of our hands. But beyond the trends of fashion, we can look and see a broader scale of hidden meaning that implies women were simply not designed to be as careless as men—something they’ve rebranded as being carefree.

We can’t afford it.

Women cannot carelessly walk around wearing as little as possible, carelessly enjoy a conversation with a stranger too much without giving off the wrong idea, or carelessly tell the truth about what her co-worker looks like in her new dress without being called a bitch. Women are bound by restrictions beyond ourselves that call for a more careful way of living, and we become labeled as being neurotic. A woman’s life is among the greatest subjects of contention.

But above all, being careless threatens our safety and security.

We can’t be careless if turning around at any minute could mean being arrested when our child falls out of a faulty highchair. We can’t be careless when our blouses are an extra button undone and we unknowingly end up flashing our supervisors. We can’t be careless in missing the cue of a potentially abusive husband and having to face years of pain and suffering until gaining enough strength and support to leave him.

We can agree that mistakes are generally made by people, and accidents just happen. The general consensus is that mistakes carry more weight, but should this really apply in every case? Could we have foreseen all that would have gone so wrongly every time? Even when circumstances are beyond our own power, women are often forgiven less and blamed more. Being careful only seeks to minimize chances of mistakes and accidents. But now it’s not enough anymore, especially not if you’re a woman.

Now it’s your fault you were raped because of what you wore. It’s your fault your child died because you were supposed to be a 24/7 stay-at-home mom. It’s your fault the entire human race is sunken in sin because you listened to the serpent and ate the apple from the tree.

We argue that men and women are equals. But as long as they both exist, this will never prove true. We will never truly accomplish equalizing ourselves. We create laws that seek to provide balance for our genders. We create organizations to forward progressive thinking and improve society. It is a beautiful thing to strive for. Our society becomes better because of such efforts for change. At the end of the day, however, there is nothing we can create that will truly fix us.

For October 7th 2013 Monday

Download: F13-ENG23000_Vanessa-Addiction

Addiction implies that you’re unable to control yourself. It implies that you’ve been overtaken by an inanimate object.

Addiction may be many things, but it is not simple. It is elaborate, manipulative. It makes you think you’re fine, and sends you off into a hectic world in which you spend the day thinking about the very object addiction has made your obsession.

Addiction makes you a victim.

ADDICTION: THIS IS WHAT IT’S NOT.

You read about things in newspapers that tell you how bad it is for you to smoke. You read headlines like, “Nicotine Addiction May Predict Weight Gain in Smokers,” and “Evidence Shows Smoking Causes Cancer,” but they don’t phase you like they should. You shrug your shoulders and allow these ideas to slip into the back of your mind, where they eventually get erased from your memory. You’re not addicted. You’re fine. You could quit any time you want to. You just don’t want to right now. There’s no need. It’s not that bad.

But still, the notion that you could be addicted lingers around, filling up things in your day from thoughts to conversations.

“Are you addicted?” you ask your friend, gesturing with your cigarette for effect.

You’re sharing a box of cigarettes with him, a new variety you’ve never tried before.

“No, I’m not addicted; it’s just a habit. I have one when I’m walking to the train station, I have one when I come out, I have one when I get out of work…I don’t need it; it’s just habit. I could quit, but you know, I don’t really have the motivation.”

This is something you’ll often hear from addicts.

You tell yourself to be wary of ever making these statements:

I’m not addicted; it’s just a habit.

I have it at this and this time of the day, but I don’t need it.

I could quit, but I don’t have the motivation.

After this conversation, you wait outside the grocery store for him. He wants to introduce his favorites to you, so he’s buying new boxes. You mentally count off the number of cigarettes you still have in your case. Sure, I could open a new box, you think, I only have eight more to go.

He comes out and you walk together to the end of the block before he hands you your box.

“Here, I just saved you five dollars.”

“Thanks,” you say.

And you’re kind of grateful, but it’s such an expensive habit you’ve stopped counting the price of it for a while now; you’ve just been letting money burn.

Keep burning, keep burning.

“I know the owners, so they always give me a discount. I just say pringles, and they know which box I want,” he says, packing his box away. “You don’t pack your cigarettes?”

“I do,” you say, and pound the box into your palm a couple times.

You observe the kids running around the park. Half an hour ago, he was just saying how he doesn’t smoke around children, and here you are, about to do it anyway.

“I thought you don’t smoke around children.”

He pulls out a cigarette and puts it to his lips—“I don’t. They’re inside, we’re outside. It’s fine”—lights it, and takes a deep pull.

A mother passing by the two of you glares at him and pulls her child away.

Uneasiness creeps up inside of you, but you ignore it. She’s a stranger, you remind yourself. Who cares? Just don’t blow the smoke in a kid’s face and you’re fine.

Addicts justify their actions. You don’t need to be in AA to know that. You see it everywhere around you, from the jobless, career gamer justifying his hobby with a TED talk to the shopper with too much in her closet going, “They were on sale, O.K.!” You see it everyday.

But people only define addiction in terms of the unhealthiest pastimes in this society.

Or it might just be you, justifying your actions again: Everyone’s addicted to something—it’s fine if I am too.

So are you admitting you’re addicted?

What does it mean to be addicted as a smoker?

You stay up Googling when you should be sleeping.

“Cigarettes contain nicotine, which is highly addictive.

Even if you want to quit smoking, you may find it difficult because you’re addicted to the effects of nicotine. Some research has suggested that nicotine can be more addictive than heroin.”

Can you really trust this site? NHS.UK? Who’s sponsoring this? Health freaks? Can they be trusted? Then again, could you trust an article about smoking addiction written by a smoker?

So you continue reading.

“Nicotine alters the balance of chemicals in your brain. It mainly affects chemicals called dopamine and noradrenaline. When nicotine changes the levels of these chemicals, your mood and concentration levels change. Many smokers find this enjoyable.”

You remember getting frustrated from not being able to have a cigarette. You remember finding it hard to concentrate.

You’ve rushed friends home so you could be alone and have a cigarette or two, or five, or eight.

You’ve been with certain friends and would suddenly start thinking about going outside to have a smoke and having to make up some plan to get away from them, because you know that if they find out, they’d only give you hell.

You were at a Starbucks once, watching a friend’s bag because she had to go use the restroom. Her drink was on the table. You wanted to walk out, but you would be a bad friend. And it would’ve been too many things to hold. Damn, would it have been annoying. But you could’ve done it. Before you were able to, she came out of the restroom. Your chance was lost, because you know she hates it when people smoke around her. You reminded yourself to have a couple smokes before seeing her next time.

The article has you thinking about too much. You’re about to close the webpage, but you note the next paragraph. It’s short enough; I’ll just finish this section.

“The more you smoke, the more your brain becomes used to the nicotine. This means that you have to smoke more to get the same effect.”

You think about how you’ve told yourself that by the end of every box, you wouldn’t buy another one. But you always do, and every time, the number of cigarettes you smoke per day only goes up.

You remember the time you drove to a 24-hour Rite Aid at two in the morning to pick up a pack of cigarettes because you couldn’t wait until the next day.

Maybe I am addicted, you start to wonder.

Even as you’re wondering this, you’re already thinking about your next cigarette. You find your thoughts trapped, your lungs begging for its next inhale, exhale. You remember the headlines as a memory flashes through your head. In the next minute, all the weight and worry is evaporated. You can’t remember the last time anything mattered, and you breathe out a satisfied sigh in a savory stream of smoke.

Addiction. It is not a friend. Or at least, not a very good one.