Inhale

I started smoking again. Big deal. Who cares. (shakes head) You know, it's something I'm good at. Ha, ha. Big smile.

Well? After, smoking pot with Luke last weekend, last Sunday night, suddenly I felt better, normal, after being semi-depressed for six weeks. (Raised hands, as if in a question. Raised eyebrows. Biting down on my bottom lip... slippery slope, he thinks) That's how long I haven't smoked. It's been miserable. I've been feeling lousy and constantly blue.

And on Tuesday I felt like buying some more, you know, why not? Just to feel normal for a day or so longer. Just for a break, it's been hell.

However, I still have to stop, again. Any day now. Certainly. It's just a temporary thing. A phase. A port in the sea of feeling lousy.

I thought about smoking more m, a quarter for the following week, but it was a bad idea, if that's the stuff that sends me into depression when I withdraw. So, rightly or wrongly, I deliberately had a cigarette, chose to, just to kill the craving. And I feel better, normal again. To stop thinking, if you like.

Except, of course, now I have to quit cigarettes, again. (hands in the air, big eyes, grimace) Crap! Angst for the first week, which changes into a slow burn on lousy. They say it takes at least three months. So, I'm going to take the pills the doc prescribed for me when I told him I was quitting, initially.

I had dinner with my ex-b/f, Lauri, Wednesday night, he swore by them.

"Take the goddamn pills," he said. Big grin. "And if you still feel down, take antidepressants." He smiled and raised his cute Italian eyebrows. "It's only for three months, or something. Temporary. It's like taking flu caps with a cold. They just make you feel better."

He's quit. I've quit. We were both sucking down Styvies on the footpath on Victoria Street, in between courses.

Mark and Luke came down tonight to see Star Trek. I hadn't told them I'd already seen it with Jill. And we, um... er, shall we say, broke bread (raised eye brows) before they left.

Back to square one, hey?

Then Shane left his "gear" downstairs.

I can't be trusted, he knows that.

It's a conspiracy, I tell you.