I woke up late today, and for once I wish it were later.
I’m quitting smoking again, and my best tactic when it comes to the physical part of withdrawal is to sleep through it. Beyond that, trying not to think too much about it.
Now, why do I want to think about it.
I’ve been smoking for 23 years, but the past doesn’t have to predict the future. What the fuck is a coincidence, anyway.
This boy doesn’t remember that I remember him. There was a time, a long time ago, I’m not trying to make this sound ominous but I’m trying not to give away everything about this and us… anyway, when we were way too young to be smoking anyway, we were in a smoking cessation seminar together. Ok, it was put on by our school. whatever.
I was there with my boyfriend at the time… who I really should call. This boy was more advanced in grades than me, hung out with cool kids, and probably didn’t notice a little miscreant like me (probably shouldn’t have, actually, this was a *long* time ago, and our minimal age difference now I guess was a big deal back then). He came in late, sat next to this other guy I knew better than him, and I think that’s why I remember him better. I recognize his voice, though. I can dig through my memory and see what I remember, but really, the one thing that always stuck with me from that day, even before I met him again.
Cigarettes are the only reason I get out of bed in the morning.The boy, when I knew him 20 years ago.
It’s true though. Every morning I lie in bed, and bargain with myself to get up, or stay down. I’ve tried everything, affirmations, getting up to record dreams, I just don’t want to.
Cigarettes are good motivators, though.
I see the boy now, and yes, when I’m over we’re in bed for 14 hours at a time (and not just fucking, like my actual fake boyfriend) and yes, he’s quit smoking. Apparently cigarettes were, actually, the only reason that he got out of bed in the morning.
And now he doesn’t have one.
I don’t feel like it’s working out with him. Though we’ve limped through a few conversations, I haven’t actually seen him since that last fight. I want to be cool with that, but I’m kind of not cool with that.
I don’t want to be alone during apocalypse.
I can understand being afraid of catching the Corona virus or whatever, and it honestly is a little disheartening to me that he doesn’t understand enough about medicine to get the fact that his trips to the grocery store are probably more of a risk to me than my long walks down by the river are to him, and I don’t know if I’m really hard pressed to say it I guess I’ve had better sex before…
But somehow everything worked out so that we were here, together, and I really figured that I should just press a and go with it.
I guess he’s just not that kind of guy.
All of my relationships have been like that. The boyfriend I had 20 years ago – we were rolling down a hill, rolled into each other, and continued doing that for 2 years. The next guy I was seeing in the interim? My friends and I got out to stretch at a rest stop during a long car ride, a sexy man in a nice car saw me, and that kicked off one of the most tumultuous relationship I, and several of my friends, ever had. Then I saw one of his hot friends and basically ran away with him. When that fizzled, I called this random dude to come get me from a place I barely knew I was, and that was the infamous ex.
My current boyfriend just wanted a chick to take to Cannes, and we work very well in bed.
I’m frustrated because quitting smoking makes me so horny, and apparently every dude in my life is a coward.
My work phone is buzzing constantly, so I guess there’s that. I wonder what that means. Do my clients trust me, or do they not care about me? Do *I* care? Honestly, I am unified with them to the degree that we all habitually engage in what other people might consider risky behavior for physical gratification, so maybe no civilian such as the boy would ever understand what I need out of life.
Honestly, none of my clients know that I’m on medical leave.
Honestly, I have not been able to have a truly satisfying orgasm since the surgery.
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I suddenly feel less terrible about sleeping all the time since this post.
Hopefully, despite a few pitfalls, I can stick to this.
I’m so tired of the stress that comes from failure here. I’m sick of cursing myself, telling myself I’m worthless every time I light up, checking my face for lines from the chemical abuse, wondering in every social circumstance if I smell of smoke, the clawing up the back of my spine when withdrawals hit, the constant yelling at myself and the internal droning dialogue about how weak I am for continuing.
I was doing so well and this post sets off a craving.
However, feeling the stress of a craving lets me know that I don’t want to have to go through this part again, ever.
I don’t want to take a step back here.