Sustainable satisfaction...

Instant gratification is something with which I have struggled for many years. Every emotional combination that you can think of, China can make it.

Have a problem? Take this pill! Eat this pizza because that's what Patriots fans do. They eat pizza and watch football. The most basic 99 cent chocolate covered pastries are described as "decadent."

Really?

Yeah, no, but that doesn't mean that on occasion, Ho Ho's aren't vital to my sanity. They might as well be the air I breathe. I panic when I don't have direct access to them the moment a craving hits.

I used to hate on myself for this, but I've realized that I have the same problem with everything else...nicotine, my inhaler (God forbid I don't have it on me when I'm in the midst of a psychosomatic asthma attack), energy drinks, time alone...the list goes on, the insanity of it all stemming from the wail bellowing from deep within my stomach...

Don't feel.

The problem with all of these things is that every single one of them gives my brain a swift hit of relief, and my brain starts to think for itself.

Hey. that Ho Ho made me feel better, that pill laid your problems to rest, ooooh yeah, I love that numb empty feeling that you call satisfaction.

I can't tell you when it started, but I can tell you that over the years, I developed an addiction to running away, an expensive, often dangerous (I had alcohol poisoning once) and ultimately futile effort to reconcile the world around me with the chaos within.

Lately, I've begun to incorporate sustainable satisfication into my life. I enjoy cooking because I can interact with the ingredients I'm using (I challenged two onions to a sparring contest--Bring the pain motherfuckers! Subsequently I burned the chili...twice, but that's neither here nor there).

I've gotten into the habit of reading a short story every night out of Stephen King's short story anthology The Bazaar of Bad Dreams. It continues to make me a better writer as time goes on. I think I feel more free to express myself because another writer has done it, if that makes sense.

I've been playing the piano more frequently because I enjoy the satisfaction of organizing my work in a way that I can understand, memorizing it and hearing it played back to me.

Or I could hire a team of Ho Ho sniffing dogs, but how long does the taste last? How good does my soul feel when I give in?

Up next to long treks through the world of art, Ho Ho's just seem...flavorless.

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