Recovery

It's a sad, sad day.

My local crack den closed its doors forever.

I'm not afraid to admit I have certain vices. Who among is without sin, I say. And sure, it makes me a little jumpy and leaves me with an occasional case of the shakes, but still I just can't seem to get through the day without a hit.

I've tried living clean before. And the old adage - "never quit being a quitter" is nice when you're trying to talk your teenager out of a nasty nicotine habit. But I'm a lifelong junkie. I've been getting a fix every day since I was 20-years-old. It seems unlikely that this old companion of mine that started in Hartford, Connecticut and has traveled with me to New York City and back to my hometown of Kalamazoo, Michigan - is something I'm ever gonna get clear of. It belongs to me and I to it.

And I never expected to find the same quality when I moved back to the Midwest. I kinda thought I'd be able to get off the juice - start fresh, clean out the system. Funny thing is - your vices find you. The things that make you itch aren't bound by geographical location. They are inside you. Inside you every day.

So yesterday morning when I went to the door of my neighborhood crack den and found no one inside, no one serving up the sauce - I began to think it might be time to try quitting again. If I'm ready to be without it. If I know how to wake up in a world that doesn't include my companion. If...

So I'll walk away, for now at least, and imagine the strength to say goodbye old friend -

"Goodbye, Starbucks. My constant companion. My truest friend. My one and only love."