Diet Coke is addictive. Also, apparently, it punctures little holes in your brain. And my dad is pretty adamant that aspartame will make you stupid and blind. Confession time? I’ve been drinking it by the gallon for years.

And that’s not the worst of it: I’m a dirty rotten smoker as well.

So I was talking to Trasy at work today while she was exposing the evils of diet soda, the medical model, and the flesh tearing consumption of meat and I decided . . . At least I’m almost certain I have? Yes, I’ve decided to take it to heart.

But I brought six cans with me to work to refresh myself throughout the day so I said I would give it up tomorrow when all this delicious fizzy wonderment had met it’s digestive fate.  I mentioned this to Trasy, yet she remained unmoved. And the question came up, Why would you want to continue doing something that you know is bad for you? Even for a little while?

This has a much broader scope, probably. And it seems all the more pertinent that this conversation took place at the DV shelter. These women here could recite pages of well founded accusations against they’re abusers by the time they arrive. They know what’s wrong; That’s why they come here. And yet, two months later, the guy wasn’t really so bad, or he’s sorry, or there’s a new someone who seems too good to be true and probably is who just wants to take care of them by treating them like his own personal property or punching bag.  Why do people  keep doing what they know is bad for them? Even for a little while?

It’s like that long term crazy spell I went through with Mark. It was obvious to everyone-it was obvious to me!-and yet I bent to his apologies, I made him up in my mind to be much more that he was, and I decided to believe that he was what he said and not what he did. Did I think it wouldn’t catch up to me? Did I think if I designed a pretty picture behind my squeezed eyelids, that it would remain when they opened?

Maybe so. Or maybe it’s just easier to go along, even if you don’t like what you get.

I want to make the brave choice, not the easy one. I want to make the brave choice, not the flashy one. I want to make the brave choice in all things, and maybe these are all pieces of the same puzzle of dissatisfaction.

I think of Erik, who is so disciplined, who stretches to exceed expectations all day after getting barely any sleep. Who works hard and gives of himself in such kind and generous ways, without exception. Who is made up entirely of lean muscle and sleeps easily and is selfless with his time and energy. And I think, That’s beautiful. I think, There but by the disappointment of God go I.

So I need to suck it up.

It turns out that things are not quite as they seem, or at least they weren’t. Of course, I say that a lot, but apparently it’s a good lesson because it keeps coming up.

Case in point, I was recently reacquainted with a boy I knew from high school. Well, to be honest, I didn’t know him but rather of him. At any rate, during the course of this late night online conversation, I began to think that maybe he wasn’t quite the person that I’d believed.  In part, that was because we weren’t actually friends so all I knew of him was what I gleaned from I think a shared math class maybe and numerous hallway passes during which I was pretty oblivious, which was typical of me and probably still is. It was nothing drastic, no deep dark buried secrets or anything like that. But in feeling, it seemed as though there was a different air and flavor to who he had been than I was aware of, and that almost made it seem more important somehow than if he’d revealed that he’d been a teenage arson or had had a scandalous affair with a teacher. But through this, I realized that I was guilty of the usual high school sin of lumping everyone into only two groups, the first of which was made up of a couple of people who took pity enough to hang out with me but weren’t quite as dorky as I was; The second was everybody else.

(more…)