Woke up in a nice comfy bed for the first time in a month. Holy crap, this is what my life was missing… I could practically hear the Simpsons theme tune as I was gently shunted into the day. My eyes were puffy but rested. My skin rosy but not sweaty. Cartoon birds would have flown in the balcony doors to chirp to me, if I didn’t have the doors bolted shut for safety reasons.
Note to self: change the sheets more often. It’s amazing, the difference it makes…. And stop getting into bed with grimy feet. The clean floor means my sheets don’t have all grit in them at foot- level. I’m usually this barefoot wanderer about my dustbowl apartment, my feet pick up all sorts of crud and deposit it on my sheets and it’s pretty damn gross.
The pristine sheets make my bed cosy, it feels like a hotel bed. I love it. I squirm… I snuggle. I relish my bed. I haven’t even had a bed really… up til yesterday it’s been a hovel, a filthy scrappy gremlin nest with pillows trying to escape their smoke-stained cases, and my ex’s side of the bed being used as a kind of table, with plates and crumbs and phone chargers and old tobacco pouches and tobacco grains and bank statements all getting freaky with each other as I sleep, constrained to my side like I may as well have some snoring oaf next to me, blocking my movements. Sheesh- way to waste the best part of being single. So I have reclaimed my bed and it feels amazing. It’s perked me up considerably, the whole room looks different. It looks like a bedroom instead of something from Trainspotting. I can actually rest and recover here. The light has changed. The air is cleaner. Oh yeah, that’s true.. because…
I haven’t smoked… since Monday. Ah no sorry, I lie. I smoked on Tuesday and one on Wednesday, but only one and it was horrible.
I am starting to watch Californication because a few people have told me to give it a chance, so if I can just get past the “Mulder having sex with lots of women” issue, I’d be glad to have a fresh few seasons o’ somethin’ to sink my teeth into… Anyway Mulder smokes and drinks and damn it, I want to smoke. But I don’t smoke because really how pathetic, not being able to make it one day without smoking. So I’m holding strong but I’ve caught a glimpse of my old foe, the one who beats me every time I try to quit.
It’s the drinking and being awesome aspect of life that demands a cigarette. I don’t know HOW to socialise and drink without a smoke to keep my jangling nerves at bay. I’m a nervous wreck when I’m thrust out into society to make small talk and avoid mentioning whatever it is I shouldn’t mention. Smoking is a dead giveaway that I’m a nervous wreck, look at us smokers sucking on some Freudian poisoned nipple. It’s a retarded crutch- like a neon arrow pointing at my nervous insecure tendencies and flashing “DONT LOOK HERE!”, it doesn’t make any sense. Maybe smokers feel comfortable around each other because we can see each others thumb-sucking, we can see the bundle of neuroses on display and breathe a sigh of relief…and carbon monoxide. We wag our membership sticks around and telepathically read the message: “hey man, I got the same silly weakness as you! Let’s sync up!”
And then we synchronised smoke, and it’s hugely satisfying.
Look, I KNOW how pathetic and stupid it is. But it’s really fucking enjoyable for me. Or if it isn’t actually enjoyable, and I just THINK it is, it’s surely more enjoyable to give into a desire than to deny yourself when you have a craving.
It’s silly. But this is why I never manage to quit. Because it’s unpleasant, and it’s not just like I can make it past a month and then I’m safe. Every single time I want to smoke, it’s a battle. One of my best friends quit smoking about 5 years ago. She smoked heavily, then gave up, seemed all poised and self posessed. I was slightly bitter because I had given up a few months before her, but she made me smoke again because “be reasonable, you can’t quit smoking before your exams, that’s just stupid” and then as soon as the exams were over I had missed my window of motivation and she quit overnight. Anyway for all her balls of steel, my friend started smoking again a few months ago. She admitted she ALWAYS wanted a smoke when we were smoking around her. Damn, it’s going to be so hard.
I feel like I’m already starting to try manipulate myself into smoking. The last time I quite was for about a month. I was insanely smug at the beginning. Week one, and I was sketching a book with my patronising secrets and genius psychological self- trickery. It’s SOOOO easy, I insisted. I saw smokers huddled at bus stops and laughed. Pah! Fools. And it costs them money to poison themselves like that? What a sad case. I’m going to buy a chanel handbag with the money I save over the next 6 years, or something…
I was going to be the new Alan Carr. Incidentally I have never even tried reading How to quit smoking. Maybe it would cure me of my vice, instantly. Oooh idea! I can Kindle it. On my stupid, black and white Kindle. Garr. Again, feel a pang, like I have been hopelessly cruel to my beloved Kindle. I take it back. I wuv him…
Dang I need to get a vibrator, I have to stop anthropomorphising technology that is NOT meant to be a relationship substitute.
I was the smuggest bastard to ever quit smoking. Smoke annoyed me. People smoking seemed so dejected, slaves to a pointless and in my opinion easily broken habit… I thought, and it’s something I am embarrassingly quick to think, that I was clearly more intelligent than everyone else. I went about my business, not smoking, for about a month.
During this time I gradualy convinced myself that a few cigarettes were ok, one here, one there, etc. It didn’t matter if I had ONE. The point was to avoid cancer, not deprive myself of ONE cigarette. And I would allow the cigarette.
Then, actually, a taxi driver once told me, that a doctor once told him that anything less than 10 a day is basically like not smoking a day. And then I would allow a “strictly” rationed 10 a day.
And the thing is I’d tell myself, most days I wouldn’t even smoke more than 10. (Lies. Selective memory, and lies) and so by saying I can’t smoke, I’m making myself crave all these smokes I never would have had anyway. I should just smoke those 10 smokes, and then I won’t want the other 18 cigarettes I want now on top of the 10, because I crave about 28 per day and if I just smoked 10 I wouldn’t crave any more. So I’m technically saving myself from all these other cigarettes I would have considered smoking.
Do you SEE how my brain works to convince me to do shit?
Anyway I’m on guard now for that kind of bullshit reverse logic. It’s like that hussle where you short change someone, by being all like, oh wait instead of giving me a ten back, why I don’t I give you 2 tens, and you give me 20? And then actually no that’s confused me, just give me my 20 and I’ll give you back that 10, or something.. Anyway it doesn’t make sense but stupid human logic… is easily tricked. I can’t remember how that change thing works exactly but I saw it on the real hussle and I watched it back like 3 times and I still couldn’t figure it out. That’s what my brain does to me.
But I’m on guard now, I’m prepared for all the wheedling and the stealthy sideways ooh I have a good idea, why don’t you just allow yourself a saintly 5 a day… and all that crap I usually fall for. I am my own worst enemy. I am my fucking nemesis. Oh man, nemesis… what a cool word.
It’s just that the smarter person in my head is the one who is also extremely fucking retarded. The clever manipulative side of my brain seems to be the one that wants me to go shopping and smoke and eat chocolate spread from the tub.
The side of me that says, no, you will eat that chocolate spread on rye bread and that is ALL YOU WILL EAT TODAY and that says you don’t even LIKE hippie clothes, you are no way buying a fucking navajo blanket poncho cardigan thing just because it looked cool when you stuck your bum out and arched your back and no you will never be wearing it with hot pants in a cool way, because it’s fucking cold in the winter, so you will end up wearing it over pajamas and look like a turd wrapped in an old blanket… anyway that side of me is not blessed with particularly good powers of reasoning.
I am my nemesis, and as long as I dislike the nemesis person, cool.
But get some jagerbombs into me and I prefer that side of me, the cocky flamboyant drug-taking chain smoking devil may care, who needs condoms, FOOL that co-signs the lease on my body.
Anyway tonight I’m going out for a leeeetle bit, I promised myself no fucking staying out til 7am, no arguing with people and no fucking mentioning the divorce. Fingers crossed.
OK here is what’s going down: I wrote that this morning. I then went and bought the Alan Carr book for my Kindle. I read it.
I wasn’t going to post this at all because meh I’m always posting the same shit about my inner struggles and my inability to really knuckle down and finish anything.
But then I read the book and it says you should record a personal statement. And I can’t think of a better one than the whole fucking blog thing.
Look, I beat myself up constantly because I am a disaster with money, I do all sorts of stupid shit and I have a social handicap that is 90% imagined and 100% real.
But then it dawned on me, in a fit of serenity and acceptance;
I have achieved a LOT this year.
I started writing this blog in January as a way to vent my frustrations without dealing with anything I really cared about. It was to be a “hey you know what pisses me off about people” kind of one-sided youtube comment, where anyone who disagreed could go to hell and I’d relish the satisfaction of being right about things in a world of ignorami and misusers of the word irony.
Over a few posts, that sort of evaporated… a bit. Because what was really happening behind my rage against my fellow critters was I had just dumped my husband but we were still living together and in fact sleeping in the same bed, but broken up. It was fucking awful and weird and I needed to unleash a lot of messed up anger and frustration in a general direction that wouldn’t judge me.
This became my diary, and it’s been brilliant as a coping mechanism I think. I think it’s kept me sane, I think it has. For all I know it could be increasing the fits of crazy and the paranoia, but fuck it, I feel better. I think I do anyway. Whatever. It’s a work in progress.
You guys, you depraved voyeurs… have been FABULOUS. Without getting my fallopian tubes in a knot, let me just say… thanks for being so freaking awesome and being a part of keeping me going throughout a pretty mixed up time that is by no means over. You rock.
But anyway I realised, since I started writing this, mid January, I’ve actually made a lot of headway.
Sometimes it wasn’t exactly a Xena warrior princess kind of moment but on some level, I’ve been crawling out of the primordial ooze of my disatisfaction in life and changing things that make me unhappy, one at a time. I keep forgetting how monumentous these little baby steps have been for me. My shit is remarkably together, if I do say so myself. So I cry alone, big whoop. So I have a pretty bad track record socially. I have done loads of shit to warrant the baby crows feet around my eyes.
Please bear with me while I pat myself on the back for my achievements, I’m in a rare euphoric mood because of my conviction that I actually will not smoke any more.
1. I broke up with someone I LOVED but who was wrong for me. That was fucking hard, but it was the best decision I ever made.
2. Done something about the fatness that was making me miserable and feel all insecure. Got as close to a rockin’ bod as I’ve had since I was 18.
3. Admitted the fact that I have never been happy in Italy and that for my sanity I need to leave.
4. Quit drinking alone, with the exception of some very very rare wine cartons. I will not be buying them again, anyway. But yes, I have gone from alcoholic to pretty fucking moderate drunk.
5. I QUIT SMOKING.
Yes, it’s soon in the game… I know, it’s actually immediately. It’s immediately after I decided to quit, really. But I am calling it as I see it. I KNOW how prematurely I usually ejaculate all over my hopes and resolutions, but this time, I’m willing to risk the egg on the face that may come with falling of my wagon.
Hey, when I gave up binge eating, I just KNEW too. I know now, I think I can safely celebrate how convinced I am. If I’m wrong, trust me I will weep and kick myself in the balls I’ll have proved I lack.
But if I’m right:
I am the fucking life master.
All I need to sort out now- and trust me, I’ll get there:
is my shopping problem (actually tried on some sexy boots today and didn’t buy. Don’t judge me for entering a shoe shop, commend me for not buying anything) and my debt problem but the two are intrinsically linked so boom, two birds, all I need is one stone, y’all.
I have to stop feeling so crumby about my lack of motivation and my hermitlike existence and my cheese-interrupted anorexia and my computer game dependence and my word-and-booze vomit.
Because I am barely a freaking adult, and I am kicking ASS at sorting my life out.
Between my last birthday and this one which is a month away, I have kicked my scrub to the curb and got in shape albeit slightly unhealthily and now I’m a non smoker?
Ok ok I’ll leave congratulating myself tooooo much until I have at least managed to not smoke at one social gathering.
Tomorrow, get ready to read all about how I non-smoked all night and had amazing breath and stuff. And got enough sleep.
Ohhh I can see the cracks appearing… never mind. When I’m up, I’m up.
When I’m down….. see ya tomorrow, motherfuckers.