So we've made it this far. 10 days. 10 FREAKING DAYS without alcohol. 10 days of stress, boredom, listlessness, joy, depression, returning to joy. I haven't been this up and down since the last time I binged on drugs and decided to swallow 8 pills in 8 hours.
It makes me wonder if, before NOvember, we had the perfect balance of life. Fraught with stress, disappointment, and emotional rollercoaster style personality - but we had booze, cigarettes, loose men and drugs to combat this. Even out the scales, somehow. Social butterflies, armed with the alcohol tinged wit and charm at hand, ready to pounce on others unhappiness and troubles at a moments notice, so to deflect off our own.
Yes, we were unhappy but we masked it with gin, dammit!
Now take away all that is fun, and all we are left with is the cocktail of petulance and wanting. And I've got to say, I'm feeling a little empty.
Last night I had a fight with the boy, and it resulted in me screaming "Well someone should be worried about it! If I'm being over emotional, it's because your FUCKING lack of emotion kills me.". Then I went back to washing the dishes, sobbing quietly amongst the bubbles of Morning Fresh.
In hindsight, I probably was being emotionally retarded. But will I tell him this? Probably not.
So my NOvember sidekick is giving up cigarettes for the weekend. And this prompted me to dissect my own reasons for smoking, clinging on to the outdated practice of slowly killing yourself one inhalation at a time.
I mean, for one - it's ridiculously expensive. At near $20 a packet, for enough to last me a few days (or a few hours if I'm at a licensed premise) this cost is positively pathetic. That money could be well spent on other things. Like shoes. Or BCBG Maz Azria.
I'm finding less and less venues where you can actually smoke now. On a night out which should be spent inside enjoying the company of friends, I'm huddled outside in the cold making forced conversation with likeminded faggers, or acknowledging other outcasts with a wry smile.
The stink of cigarettes on your hair and hands. The staining of your teeth. The shortness of breath.
So why do I still smoke? Because I enjoy it.
I LIKE SMOKING. I enjoy the sensation of smoking. I envision inhaling, pooling all of my negative thought, then exhaling these thoughts in, literally, a puff of smoke.
There is nothing better than having a gigantic meal, and then plopping down to light a cigarette, and taking a satisfyingly long drag. Its even better having a drink ensconced in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Yes, drinking and smoking go hand in hand.
My first cigarette was from a pilfered packet, lit nervously in a toilet cubicle. I wasn't sure what to do. Do I inhale the first time? I puffed half heartedly for a few minutes and then flushed the evidence, heady with the taste of rebellion.
My mother smoked.
So here we come to the crux of the issue. I'm afraid of quitting smoking because it's a part of my life, and has been for so long. It comforts me, it settles my twitching hands. But am I clinging on to the ghost of something which I'm too scared to understand?
I'm going for a cigarette.
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