While I can assure you, officer, that I’ve never done drugs — nary even a rogue panadol — ever before in my life, I can equally assure you, your honour, that I have spent majority of the afternoon feeling like I am incredibly high.
If indeed I know what that is like.
The current theory is that in lieu of being pumped full of nicotine, my brain and nervous system are trying to replicate the effects by flooding me with adrenalin, serotonin and, going by the amount of singing I am doing in the toilet, some hardcore, Veterinary grade speed.
I mean, they’ve given Frank Pembleton a submarine and he’s on the TV every five to ten seconds, but even with the T1000 as his first mate he still hasn’t figured out who killed little Adina Watson and is instead busy starring in a knock off version of Lost with some leftovers from Dollhouse and the Underworld series.
What I’m trying to say is, that quitting smoking has made me feel intensely energised but also intensely unfocused. I am replacing cigarettes with fruit, mostly peaches as previously mentioned, chocolate and beer. I was drinking loads of beer when I smoked but now I am not smoking and drinking beer. What?
Has anyone seen that scene in Reefer Madness?
Except it cuts out too early, and I’m the guy when he screams YOU! YOU’VE COME HERE TO KILL ME HAVEN’T YOU!
And Tessa is all, “motherfucker, what? I just cooked you potatoes!” and it’s true! She cooked me potatoes! And we watch Law & Order and everything is okay but shit, I feel that rising panic in my chest, like I am full of bees, and I feel the blood thrumming against my temples, and my pupils widen and I am still getting ripped to shreds my insects wherever I go, I have mosquito bites all over my stomach and jumping spider bites on the back of my legs and it all feels strange and I’m mumbling to myself as I write this.
Look — what’s important is that I’m having a good time. I feel like I am full of ants, but I am having a good time.