Tom asked me if I wanted him to come over and cook me dinner tonight. I said no, I wanted to lie low and struggle - without other smokers around me - with my quitting smoking. This week it has been really hard, not sure why. I think the toxins are letting go on my lungs and they are starting to bubble to the surface.
Tom said he'd leave me alone.
I replied, Oh, ya know, it's not that I want to be left alone - just for a stunning piece of contradiction - it's just that I feel really awful. I feel like I am in a fog. I feel like there is a cloud over my eye sight. I feel like my nervous system is packing it in. I feel like I am getting the flu. I feel like I am immanently about to cough up some dead carcass. I feel like I could snap and kill the bitch at any moment. I feel like my fuse has been reduced to 2 millimetres, nay, 1 millimetre. I feel like screaming, crying, puking, running out into the traffic, all at the same time, while remaining steely calm like the best serial killer. I just don't feel like I am much fun, feel like being much fun, at the moment and I don't want to bore the pants off any body.
I'm just in a fog and focused on myself for a minute. If I just stay calm and concentrate, all of the above can't effect me, just like Batfink, my tattered wings are still made from steal.
This addiction withdrawal FUCKEN sucks. But I'm going to get through it, because otherwise I'm only going to have to go back to the beginning and start again.
... as Missy licks my foot, bless her.
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