Posts tagged ‘Freedom’

“The believing we do something when we do nothing is the first illusion of tobacco.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

That’s it, I quit! Let me rephrase that; let this be my letter of resignation, or cessation, as need be throughout this address to you, my self-imposed torment.

Let me define those two words for you, as shown in my beloved Merriam-Webster(M-W):

res·ig·na·tion noun \ˌre-zig-ˈnā-shən\
Definition of RESIGNATION
1  a : an act or instance of resigning something : surrender
b : a formal notification of resigning

2: the quality or state of being resigned : submissiveness

ces·sa·tion noun\, seˈsāSHən/
Definition of CESSATION
the stopping of a process or activity <the cessation of the snowstorm was a relief>

I particularly like the example used for cessation by M-W, in this case “The cessation of the snowstorm was a relief.” for its use of the word relief. My resignation brings to me a sense of relief. My cessation brings me a renewed life.

I used to enjoy your company, now it feels like a sheer boredom, slow torture, and it makes me feel disgusted with myself, each and every day.

Other options for living, if I resign, have been shown to me, over and over. Other examples of what happens – including “dying at my desk”, if I stay, also have been shown to me. I have tried leaving you behind before: leaving behind the impact on my finances, my quality of living, my joy of facing the day…of enjoying my whole day. You take my energy and my breath away (and that is not meant as a compliment). Day-to-day life is spoiled by your constant interruption into my productivity, yet I crave your insistence at stopping by and wasting my time. Like listening to a broken record, which I choose to leave in the ruined groove, I sit and take it. Well, not any longer.

You stink. Your whole purpose and effect upon how others treat me is toxic. “She is such a smart lady, why doesn’t she just QUIT?”  Your toxicity has rubbed off on me and made ME stink. You have helped me put others lives in jeopardy, with the second-hand effects of letting myself stay with you.

Why I stay with you in this place has always baffled me, until now. Somehow,I have been given the keys to the front door, the dungeon door, and I am letting myself out of your jail; well, really, I did join the club, so I would have to say my self-imposed jail. I chose this sentence of twenty-seven years and have managed to make it out on occasion, but for some reason I would return, always for the worst reason. This has happened at least three times and I believe the third time is the charm, but this time the charm is for ME, not you. You don’t have a “company person” that stays until the day she dies. I am not sorry if that disappoints you. In fact I couldn’t give a damn now.

I USED to return to you. You, with your false offers of relaxation, illusionary status with the “cool kids” and an old familiarity, so I would do something to break my freedom – my probation, by another name – and I return. Well, not this time. I have found a better way out. There is a way to get to a better place that offers me a higher income, sanity, a less stinky environment, and relief from the danger and pain, which daily I put myself through with being here with you. Your company is no longer needed and again I say, YOU STINK, SMELL, ARE ACRID, FETORED, DISTASTEFUL and put plainly, just unpleasant with which to be involved.

So, as of the twenty-third of November, 2010 – after I ease out of my position, my participation in your dirty little club, finish my work, so to speak – I QUIT! I have a strong team backing me up this time. Even health professionals to assist me get my body and head straight again, regarding the damage, which my interaction of being in your company has managed to put into me. People who I can call upon to remind me that you are (that will be a “were”) doing nothing but: raising my blood pressure; aging me faster than I should; literally, taking my air away; putting me at risk for self-harm over and over (some, which can kill me and I hope doesn’t linger when I depart your company); helping me influence my young nephews, and others, to follow in my erroneous choice to join your company; lumping me into a club that I don’t want to belong to ever again; and driving me insane with frustration at my own stupidity and dallying in quitting you.

There are so many reasons for my resignation: happiness, freedom, chances at trying new things in my new position in life, living a long life filled with hope and, I reiterate, a bigger bank balance and better benefits. Plus I won’t stink. You know they say that when you lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Well, in this case it is true.

I know you think I will be back and fall into your trap of control and seeming ownership of my very life and soul, but, you know what? It won’t happen this time. There is too much life out there to live and too many opportunities. I even have offers already, which are filled with better opportunities for growth and feeling good in what I do every day; New chances! It is like the illusion, the cloud of smoke you produce in your false promise of comfort and ease, is dissipating as I type these words.

I hereby give my notice to you Phillip Morris and Altria Company.  May you disappear in a puff of smoke. And no, thank you, I won’t need a letter of recommendation, as I choose not to approach any of your cronies to get re-involved or participate in your industry any longer.

Stubbing you out. Bye!


Carol Bourns-Roberts

p.s. If you see me around, don’t worry about saying “Hello”, as I won’t acknowledge you.

M.C. Escher

If you choose to submit your “resignation” letter also – I used 1-800-QUIT NOW, a Washington State service – here are some great tools:

Your Quit Smoking Toolbox

5 Minute Craving Busters


American Heart Association

The Office of the Surgeon General

Women’s Health. Gov

American Cancer Society

SmokeFree NHS Choices (for UK readers)


Best Way to Quit Smoking (Blog)

Cigarettes Flavours (Blog)

QUIT NOW – this is the one I used. There are some touching letters that people have written to themselves that inspired me to write this letter of resignation. They are even sending me four-weeks worth of free patches, and unlimited phone counseling, as my economic situation isn’t at its best at the moment. Bless them.

There are many options to quit. Please try now. If you go back to the old, dirty habit, just keep coming back to this journal entry and remind yourself why it is good to quit. Write yourself a letter as to why you want to quit and read it EVERY DAY. I promise you that it will help. Get supporters to help you stay away from the “bad company”. Believe me, you will thank yourself every day your breathing gets better and you can do things that you were limited in before, such as play with your children, exercise, walk with friends without getting out of breath, having to spend all that money on something that is killing you, etc. Not to mention having to step outside to smoke in the rain.

Scooter Love: Vroom Vroom

As you probably guessed, by seeing some of the links on the sidebar and my avatar, I LOVE scooters. You know, the two-wheeled, gas-engine kind. Think Quadrophenia and Roman Holiday with the wind in your hair (or rather rushing past your helmet, of course), and feeling more in contact with your surroundings than a “cage” (aka four-wheeled vehicle) could ever allow you to feel…ever.

My Scooter Love affair started when I was sixteen-years old and never died. But the love affair had to be more of a crush, a fan-based crush, for twenty-four years, as I wasn’t allowed to obtain a scooter for various reasons. First, my parents feared, as any good parent would, that I would kill myself on two-wheels. Then, as I grew into adulthood, my worry replaced theirs and financial reasons got in the way. I drooled over others’ scooters, the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. And I could only dream about owning and riding my own. Or so I let myself think. The power of thought is a fantastic tool, for good or evil.

I had been to scooter rallies in the U.S. and the U.K., rode pillion (on the back) of scooters and motorcycles for years and then, finally, at forty-years old, I met a few local scooterists and decided that it was “now or never” time to purchase my own scooter. I had to or I felt like I was going to regret it until the day I died.

My cousin, Barb, lives her life to the fullest. While I was going through a personal crisis in my thirties, feeling like I was wasting my life, she told me that forty was even better and not to worry. She truly lives her life: rides a motorcycle; became the president and CEO of her family company; the first female president of the local contractors’ association; and goes on adventures when she can fit it in her busy schedule. She is an inspiration and an incredible woman. She was correct about turning forty.

Maybe my love of two-wheels also was ignited by my mother. I remember my parents going out into the wilderness, when I was a child, to ride dirt bikes with their friends. Mom’s dirt bike was purple, if I recollect correctly — with a matching, sparkly helmet, of course! Hey, it WAS the 70s! She often would let me ride on the back of her bike during short, slow, and safe rides.

Only having flashbacks of standing in a dusty clearing of the woods, waiting for the other riders to return, I had forgotten all about the riding along part. But one day — during my drive-everyone-to-insanity scooter search — she smiled, kind of chuckled and reminded me of those rides. Laughing, she said it was probably her fault that I had such a passion to find my OWN scooter, not just ride on the back.

Fast forward to 2004, I met and fell in love with a mod/scooterist in England at the first ever Modstock, while on vacation. He owned (still owns, hopefully) two beautiful scooters: a P-series, T5, 172Vespa and a Lambretta 200 Special (SX200),  both faithfully restored and GORGEOUS. Sadly, I only was allowed a few rides on the Vespa, as a pillion, before we parted ways. There are not enough words to describe riding through the English countryside, your arms wrapped around a cute guy, feeling connected and alive with everything whizzing past you. You can smell everything, feel the wind on your face, the rumble of the scooter below doesn’t hurt, and people SMILE at you as you ride by. Now try that with about a hundred scooters riding together, during a rally, and people stop and take pictures. It’s magic!

To be fair, my first ride on a scooter, as a pillion, was on my friend Nick’s Vespa. He named her “Vicky”. Cute, eh? Nick and I took off from his flat on a crisp, English morning and rode down some narrow, ancient streets, onto the motorway and made our way to a scooter get-together in the town centre of Birmingham. I still remember one stop where we had a quick snap taken by a couple of men standing on the sidewalk, and he leaned back a bit to yell over the engine’s loud putt-putt-putt, “Don’t you just love being a Mod?” I had the biggest grin on my face at that moment. Scooter LOVE! (Check out his amazing scooter art here. He takes commissions too!)
– Update 2012: Links broken – trying to get new info to link-up. If you would like the info now, remember Google is your friend.)

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