I’m wound about as tight as a tether ball that’s been endlessly beaten around the same side of a pole every day for the last 20 years.

Some &*^%-head opened a Paypal claim against me for a transaction on eBay a couple of weeks ago. (The purchase actually occurred almost a month and a half ago now.) They even had the audacity to leave me positive feedback before filing the claim. At the time I thought my head was going to pop off of my shoulders and hitchhike its way through Canada - the buyer lives in Alaska. Its possible that my brain may have gotten there in a couple of weeks. I enjoy imagining this woman opening her door and finding my severed head on her doorstep. She deserves a good scare after all the stress she’s put me through. Furthermore, she’s a liar. I hope karma bites her in the ass.

I have 130 some-odd “perfect” transactions on eBay. I’ve sold expensive phones and laptops when I’ve made the decision to upgrade my own equipment. I take great care to explain the condition of everything I sell. To be sure, my auction descriptions probably read like Tolkien’s, Lord of the Rings. Why did he go to such great lengths to explain how the sunlight was hitting the tree and which direction the shadows were falling from and how the shadows felt against the surface of the characters’ skin? In the immortal words of Charlie Brown, “Good Grief.” When it comes to selling an item on eBay, now that’s a different story which requires a descriptive narrative. Giving an accurate description is sort of like filing your income taxes with the IRS. You’d better be damn sure that what you’re saying is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God. I told the truth. But the truth doesn’t matter to the Paypal claims department, which has to, in all fairness, moderate the situation for both the buyer and the seller.

Its at times like these when I frantically search for the small white cardboard box with a picture of a Camel grinning up at me. I grab it, scramble down the stairs of my apartment and out the door. I light up like a Christmas tree. The only thing that calms my nerves more than a cigarette is Xanax. I suckle the cigarette like a new-born infant does a bottle (don’t picture the infant, picture the security the situation provides). Did you know that you can suffocate stress for $4.95? That’s the going rate for a pack of Camels in Washington State. I’d like to believe that smoking is better than alcoholism. If you don’t agree, don’t respond to this post. My reality requires some “agreements” with myself.

Moving on, money has been really tight these past couple of months. Its driving me crazy. Now, if you’d like, you can picture the Gopher in Groundhog Day driving Bill Murray over the canyon. Money is the root of all evil because it is the root of almost everyones stress. Can you hear it? That’s the sound of nickels, dimes, and quarters clanking down your drain pipe and towards this months rent. No longer being able to ignore the situation (as if that would somehow make it go away), I decided to go job-hunting. Recently I turned in an application at the local community college. The position requires working with English as a Second Language and Adult Basic Education students. I would love to get the job because then my partner and I could carpool to work, which, if it hasn’t all ready struck you, saves gas. Gas is running about $3.57 a gallon in my town. The whole gas debacle makes me feel like a 75 year-old woman. I start saying things like, “Wow, I remember when I could fill my entire gas tank for $15.00.” If the fuel crisis makes you angry and you haven’t seen Fahrenheit 9-11, don’t see it. It will just make you angry and anger and stress is what we’re trying to relieve here.

So, I go smoke another cigarette and ponder the idiocy of George Bush and my uncanny inability to run away from money. You know why I can’t get away from Bush and money? Because the devil is everywhere. He’s in the smoke I’m inhaling and he’s an employees of the tobacco company. Everywhere I go, there he is. He’s sort of like me. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t get away from myself either. Everywhere I go, there I am.

Smoking should be like synchronized swimming. People should be forced to take smoke breaks and inhale and exhale together. “Ready, Set, Inhale. Together we can suffocate stress.” Although, meditation is a lot healthier and it also forces you to focus on your breathing. Take it or leave it.

In the past four months I’ve learned that not only do I suffer from depression, but also Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. This at least explains why my DVD, game, and CD collection is so organized. Being OCD has some benefits. For example, I never show up late for anything. I can plan and coordinate an event which runs smoothly. And I am a very motivated perfectionist. Of course, in the same breath I have these insane fears of dying in a car accident. Every time I get in my car to drive somewhere I’m absolutely convinced my tires are flat and I am going to crash head long into a telephone poll. Fear of driving is not exactly a “good thing” because I don’t own a horse drawn buggy. OCD causes more anxiety than it does joy. My car is only one example. I won’t bore you with the rest.

So, when I’m feeling like my heart is going to explode with fright, I drag another cigarette out and fumble for my lighter.

I know I should quit. But, smoking does so much for me right now it would be like chopping my right arm off. I’ve never been able to write well with my left hand. I discovered that when I broke my right wrist in high school. I’ve managed to reason to myself that smoking provides the same sort of function that my right arm does. It allows me to continue to peform in society. I use smoking because I don’t know how to begin to relieve my stress in a more efficient way. Hyperventilating into a paper bag isn’t exactly “socially acceptable.” Not to say smoking is really fashionable these days, but it at least is more acceptable than laying on the floor of an office space while holding a brown bag over your mouth.

Moreover, I’m a relatively shy person. Smoking has helped me make friends. It opens the conversational door - something I have never been very good at doing myself. The next time you walk by a group of smokers, look over at them and notice how friendly they are with each other. Its like owning a dog and walking into PetSmart. Instantaneously you belong to a CLUB of people that can’t wait to talk with you.

I may get cancer. That’s a very grim outlook I suppose. But, I also reason that if I die at 55 because I had lung cancer at least I died stress free. Its about the quality of life. You have to decide for yourself what vices you’re willing to put up with and which ones you won’t. In the words of the Big Bad Wolf, “I’ll huff and I’ll puff ’til I blow your house down.”

Tags: Alaska, Bill Murray, Canada, Charlie Brown, cigarette, eBay, Gas, George Bush, hitchhike, karma, Money, Paypal, tether, Washington