Chantix is Making Me Weak....

As many of you know, I started taking Chantix, a prescription drug to aid in quitting smoking, last Monday. So far it is working great, but there have been, of course, some side effects. These include an inability to fall asleep, regardless of how drunk or stoned, a constant need to be doing something, anything, which may explain the recent surge in blogging, and, a side effect not listed on the box, strong changes to my typically bitter emotional nature. That is not to say that I am no longer bitter...far from it. I think that in the long run, Chantix will actually make me more bitter, but that is only because it has managed to open my inner-self to random, shameful, overly-sentimental feelings that are beyond my control.

While nothing has actually changed in my life, I do feel different. I am no longer as able to withhold my comments as well, often leading me to utter whatever thought pops into my mind. Given I have spent a lifetime developing a dense speech filter to keep me from offending or creeping out everyone that I meet, this may not be a good thing. Sure, I haven't yet said anything that would cause me to hole up in my room, too ashamed to see the light of day or the disappointed looks on my friend's faces, I can feel it coming.

This recent personal revelation regarding the drug's side effects came from an incident this morning in the poster shop where, bored as usual, I could not have been prepared for the coming event.

I fell in love at first sight.

Pardon me. I have to go throw up somewhere. No really. I think I might actually vomit. That's because, along with a Brita-esque speech filter, I have developed strong aversions to seemingly typical sentimentalities of the greater society. I don't believe in love at first sight, nor would I ever believe that the person I met this morning is he who I am meant to be with forever, or even at all. In fact, I think people that talk about love at first sight are blind and stupid, willing to follow their partner down whatever road to unhappiness they choose. No, no. I am far too pragmatic for that.

But the thought is still there. I mean, how often are you at work when a beautiful, masculine being walks in and compliments your taste in music. Given that the typical patron of this shop has not a clue what I am usually playing, the fact that he, whose name I still don't know, did know was remarkable. More than music taste, however, was his casual and flirtatious manner, the exact type I go for. As most of you have seen, I will normally develop strong crushes on those people who appear to be flirting, give every indication of interest, and then flake out right at the end. Whether this illustrates my inability to unearth flirtation in conversation or the same blindness that leads people to rash decisions and unhappiness, I don't know. I'd imagine it is a mix of both. What I do know was he was flirting. It was made apparent by his friends' giggling and shady mutterings in the rear corner of the shop. They knew, and so did I.

Regardless of whether or not he was flirting, I am most disturbed by this situation. I have always flirted with people at work, given the fact I've worked retail since I was but a wee boy. It's part of the job. However, I have never thought about one of these casual flirtations longer than a few minutes after the fact, but will instead revert right back to thinking that I, once again, had passed up a prime opportunity, letting the memory of that person fade out forever. As I've said, this usually takes only a few minutes. I don't like to harp on things.

Quick break....someone just came in and asked me if we had any holocaust posters. What? Like, 24x36 prints of Jews in ovens? Is that what you want, you fucking sicko? Who knew Mel Gibson had relatives in the area? Maybe they live next to Whoopi...

Sadly, this man of my dreams, with his "just out of bed" tousled hair and five o'clock shadow, had to leave...something about getting on the road. While I thought about it, I determined that it would be too strange (and probably against company policy) for me to ask him for his number. He left, saying he'd back in a few days "for that poster," with a sly grin that Chantix manipulated into an overt misinterpretation, "for you."

This nameless man's friends walked him to his car and then returned to my shop. They, after all, had posters of bad bands to buy, making me grateful that his and my conversation had begun focused on good music.

....quick break.....holocaust kid is back. What a fucking weirdo....

Now, I am left to wonder what could have, should have, would have happened if I had just spoken up and asked for the number. Maybe he will come back. Maybe.... Until then, I guess I will just have to deal with the onslaught of emotionally instability brought on by this horrific medication. At least my loveless life will be a few years longer...