smokeblog

Thursday, March 14, 2002

 
Day 31
Still hard. Still Hard. Still hard. Spring being here is hard. I can only think about sitting at an outdoor cafe table with a nice glass of white wine in the early evening and a Camel Light. It seems like such a perfect pleasure from here, 31 days away. I try to remind myself that it really wasn't a "pleasure" but more like a "master". One of these days, i will be able to walk by a an outside table in the early evening of spring and not crave a cigarette. I know it. But in how long? 6 months? 6 years? 16 years? It seems like a hellishly long time of misery. I still blame my first boyfriend for all of this.
2:45 PM

Monday, March 11, 2002

 
Day 28...
...and since feb was a short month, also my 1 month anniversary. But hell if it's getting easier. For some reason, seems to be getting harder. Maybe it's Paris. I am having an internal whine-a-thon. Everyone i see smoking (which is pretty much everyone) elicits the thought, "How come s/he get to smoke, huh? How come? How come? HOW COME???"

I try to think:
Phlegm
Cancer
Oxygen Tanks
Wrinkles
4 Euros a day
Holes in favorite sweater.

It's no use, i'm in a full on craving. I reach in my left pocket which is reserved for gum, jolly ranchers, and hard starbursts. I may need to get new candy; the current supply doesn't have the same kick it used to have.

Walking out of the movie theater is kind of like walking into a bar in the city. It's friggin killing me. Maybe i don't have enough people encouraging me over here. The weather's gotten nice, spring-like,. And on my walk to the metro in the morning i still haven't stopped thinking about how nice it'd be. Last night after the movie (The Shipping News - sucked) i was all but beaten, about to bum off some poor soul who'd have to deal with my accent mal. But then i remembered it was the one month mark tomorrow, and i ought to just make it to a month. So i did. No, it's good. It's supposed to get easier soon.
2:36 PM

Sunday, March 10, 2002

 
Day 28
An excruciating night, squished in between 5 french smokers on either side. More red wine than entered Moses' most decadent dreams. I tried to suck it up (or not) for a good part of the evening. I watched the lighter make a sparkling connection to the tobacco tip of cigarettes. That perfect lovely crackly sound. The inhale, the catch, the exhale, it's so perfect lovely. I said i wanted to leave. Nils implored me to stay. He said we'd dance. So a few of us danced, each picking up a cigarette at will. Each except me.

I did it for an hour, a half hour, i don't know, it could've been five fucking minutes. But then i fucking had to leave. And i said to myself, if i see someone on the street, alone, smoking, i'll ask them for a cig. No one on the way to the train. On the metro i pulled the brim of my hat as far down as possible. I only saw the ankles of people's pants, and below. I have no idea how much of me they saw, but i figured not much. And so i love my hat.

Somehow no one alone on the way from the train to my house either. I couldn't believe it. There was a man in a group of four other women, but i couldn't begin to interupt that. At least not in french. Even though i was dying to. I got to my building and then i even stood on my corner for awhile, just waiting for a lonely smoker boy, playing it oh-so-cool, to fumble in his coat pocket for Lucky Strike for me. But nothing. And i come home lungs clean as anything.

And now at my computer, a glass of white at my left, just one of them pleeeease. I've held quite a few this evening, with no intention of lighting. And now that i have every intention of lighting one, whoops, he's gone. Fuck. Ok i can go to sleep and feel good about myself tomorrow right? right? right? right? This is harder than anything.
12:26 AM