Day 4


Second night of bad sleep in a row. Yesterday I woke up with some sort of weird cold/allergy thing. The night before had very vivid dreams, all about cigarettes, and woke up a lot, also thinking about cigarettes. I’m actually kind of okay when I’m awake — pang of addiction, no I don’t do that, move on to something else — but asleep, or battered by the need to sleep is getting me a bit hinky. I wonder if I should put the patch on just to go to sleep.

Last night I woke up and some perverse son of a bitch has bitten me all over my shoulder and neck. Possibly a mosquito, I don’t know but I lay there awake not itching but desperately wanting to itch. Wanting a cigarette and desperately not smoking. It makes functioning in the day more difficult.

This afternoon I work and its my first proper time out of the house and so another day of tests. The major test is: I will see people smoking. There is a very real chance I will smell cigarette smoke. Tessa had thrown out and hidden all of the paraphernalia from around the house. What will it do to my brain when I actually smell a cigarette?

Still the upside of getting out is that I will STOP WATCHING TV. Tessa’s lovely boss and her wife have graciously given us their old beast of a TV, along with set top box. It was missing an aerial cable, so we could only watch DVDs on it which was great.

Then we bought an aerial cord. Its been a three day blur of Stacy Keach as Mike Hammer, TV’s The Mentalist, some sort of Power Rangers, Today/Tonight, terrible crime dramas, Horatio Cane, The Avengers (the one based on the English TV show that was awful then and has gotten worse since), and ads. ADS FOR EVERYTHING. Steam shark mops, weight loss, John Laroquette, FRIENDS SO MANY EPISODES OF FRIENDS and quit smoking ads.

Katie Woodward mentioned the other day how perverse quit smoking ads are and I agree. Don’t show us someone lighting up, I don’t want to hear that first satisfying crackle of tobacco catching, that first inhale of smoke. Even if it is the sound of smoke whipping around an emphysema riddled lung, or the person had bubonic plague sores all over their mouth — I want those fucking sores! I want smoke to curl out of my nose, I want to feel that bite of a last drag on my lip!

Smoking, like any addiction, does horrific things to your logic centres, and rewires them. I have no fear of death, anti-smoking ads. Poor old Bryan on the cigarette packets, — I have not had a single conversation with another smoker that has not centred around how he died of AIDs, not cancer. I mean, what the fuck sort of insane argument is that to make? There is a dead guy on your cigarettes, but your nicotine logic makes you 100% certain that he died of AIDs. Does smoking give you AIDs? NO. What gives you AIDs? THE 1980’S. Monkey bites. Dodgy blood transfusions. So I should KEEP SMOKING and avoid HIGH WAISTED DENIM CUT OFFS, THE ZOO and THE HOSPITAL.

Anyway. Having a cold yesterday made it a lot easier to not smoke, even though I’ve found when I get sick in the past I almost smoke more, for some unknown reason. Sleep is hard. Has quitting smoking made me extra delicious to fleas who bite me in my sleep? Do I have fleas? Have I always had fleas, but smoking has kept them docile? Or ticks! Or tsetse flies.

Also, man, I don’t know what season of Friends we’ve been watching but it feels like it must be the very, very last one and they appear to STILL be running the old WILL THEY WON’T THEY with Ross & Rachel.


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