day two: rack focus

In 11 years of smoking, I can accurately state that I've smoked every day for the last ten years. A pack a day, for three years. Throw in three years of 2 packs a day and 4 years of pack and a half a day. With that much chemical intake whirring through my body, I'm a walking chemistry set, perfectly balanced with 20 slow-effect innoculations every day for the last thousand days.

But I've loved every minute of it, notwithstanding the odd burn to skin or bedding or the obsessive daydreams about lung cancer and emphysema. It just only recently occurred to me that I don't actually enjoy the cigarettes themselves. I love the way they keep me balanced, keep this feeling i always feared without ever encountering a safe distance away from me.

So figuring out that smoking was just filling the stopgap between cancer and withdrawal, I removed it. And if the last two days are any reflection, I should have quit smoking 5 years ago.

To feel like this in the past usually required two tabs of acid, a night spent running around, overexerting, burning out, frying everything down to nubs. Now apparently I just have to go without cigarettes for 12 hours or so and i am self-medicated. This morning was a bit of a bright-eyed exception, with me waking up at 5 am, possibly like a kid on christmas morning, getting up early to get that usual morning cigarette. Oh yeah. Shit.

At work I doze off constantly, I wake up to a crossword column filled with e's (which seems to be my favorite button to press, followed by s), and while I've done that before in smoking days, now it's like narcolepsy, and in the blink of an eye, literally, i'm coming out of some daydream.

If the nicotine is congregating anywhere these days, small and dying its ranks are becoming, it's in my head, specifically right behind my eyes. The same feeling you get after you take that last hit and know you've taken things just a step too far, that's what I feel like now. I'm also excessively tired, but when I tried to sleep, my upstairs neighbor, Rockrmom51, put on some boots and decided to walk circuits through her apartment. I went grocery shopping and felt wrecked, ashamedly so. I could tell that my legs weren't working right, and that there had to be a shining aura of distortion surrounding me, but no one let on and I just fought off the urge to curl into a ball in front of the deli counter and sleep this whole thing off.

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I have no craving. Sure, sounds like bullshit, I know. But I have no craving. If I do, it's small and it's merely a reaction to the utter crap situation my body finds itself in, sweating out hundreds of chemicals, built up for months and years. Because my hands are empty of a cigarette to hold and my mouth is vacant of a perpetual filter and all I would need is a steady influx of that RJ Reynolds cocktail to get my system back to feeling like it normally does. If I survive this without breaking, I most likely will never smoke again. This is what I've felt like every time I smoked 3 packs in one day, or the two months I was rolling my own out of coffee cans of Drum and woke up feeling like a family of razors was living in my lungs. This is one of those bad days you remember everytime you smack a pack against the flat of your hand.