I've just had a quick conversation with my NOvember compatriate, and it went along these lines.
N: Wanna go for a cigarette?
L: No. Not really.
N: Yeah, me neither.
L &N: God, I'm depressed.
Before we would completely abuse the work chat service client, and organise to meet at either Level 7 or Level 8 balcony at a designated time with the precision of a swiss watch maker.
Now we sit listlessly in our seats, looking out the window with a longing that is akin to the indoor cat seeing a fat juicy pigeon in the garden.
I used to think the three best things in the world were drinking, smoking and Snu Snu. Now that drinking has been withdrawn from my days, I don't even feel like smoking any more. Oh sure, I get the odd nicotine craving now and again, but really thats just my body conforming to the bourgeoisie and humdrum of early onset lung cancer. Lemming.
To be honest, I'm suprised my cravings arent stronger. I'm inhaling cake and chicken drumsticks the same way I used to draw back on a lit cigarette. I think nothing of eating poultry for breakfast. Two nights ago I had a midnight snack of salami and rocky road squares. Yes, together. No, fuck you.
Judge all you want, just remember: That thing you like? Who do you think taught your boyfriend that?
So with the absence of fagging away, gossiping about those barely out of earshot - this has left me with so much spare time during the days and nights. What do normal people do? Is this a show I would normally watch on tv? What the hell is that noise? Why am I inside at 8pm? Shouldn't I be sitting on my back step, wine and lit cigarette in hand, listening to the not so subtle hourly-rate lovemakings of my neighbours?
So with all this spare time on my hands, I could do anything. I could solve world poverty. I could break through the glass ceiling. I could find a cure for cancer.
Oh the irony.
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