The alarm went off and I hit it. Threw it across the room. Saucy snuggled in and I looked at her like she has done something wrong, like it is a bad thing her big blue cranium fits perfectly in the crook of my arm. When I finally rolled out of bed at 10am, I looked to my arm, where my new best friend patchy mcpatcherson lives and alas. Nothing. I forgot to put a new one on before falling asleep. Which explains everything.
It explains my lack of awesome vivid dreams that leave me feeling exhausted and as though I’ve been adventuring all through the galaxy in my sleep. It explains why I’m so angry with Saucy and kitty for being so cute. It explains why I want a cup of coffee so bad and it explains why I feel like murdering every single person I see. I am going through withdrawal, and this is not something I intended upon doing.
I slapped a new patch on but it was too late. The notion is already in my head, and already I want to stab myself for quitting smoking. Already I can feel the cigarette sitting in my fingers, smoking so idly, and comfortably, awaiting my next inhale like a trusted friend. Already I can feel the warm cup of coffee grasped in shaking hands, can hear the clink as I set it down and pick up my friend, can hear the sizzle of paper and tobacco as I breathe in the glorious smoke that has been my lifeline for the past six months. For the past ten years. Already my brains starts running to all the places I’ve smoked, all the great times I’ve had with a cigarette in hand, telling me “you quit a few weeks too soon my dear” and “how will you ever make it through this convention without me, your best friend in the world.” Already, before 10:15, the cravings had become unbearable, and my resign to quit smoking is as fleeting as winters in LA. So I did the only thing I knew to do. Reached out for support.
Angel Pie is wonderful, telling me “well you can smoke if you really want, but you won’t like it. I will love you either way.” E-Deezy is a recovery genius, saying “try it, but I think you’ll find that they just aren’t the same as they once were. You are different, and your relationship with them is different now.” Even Dr. Drew, Drewdiggity as my phone so lovingly refers to him says “You can try chantex but I think quitting is a great idea. Maybe a lozenge to breakthrough the tough craving.” B, who doesn’t understand addiction at all says “Noooo….I will disown you if you do, please.” and immediately thoughts of smoking to offend, or smoking with the intention of breaking his heart run through my head and I’m driving by gas stations looking longingly at them, knowing that inside boxes and boxes of my little friends are waiting to be purchased, enjoyed and stubbed out. I’m driving back to my place to pack up the remnants of my career in adult, pack up the proof of my success to sell it off in one last hurrah, one final goodbye and thank you very much to all the fans and friends that await me in Jersey. I’m wondering if quitting smoking is the best thing for me right now. But this of course is addiction talking and I’ve learned to separate my mind from my addict and tell myself that this too shall pass. So hurry up and fucking pass.
I got home and tore open the closet. Threw everything that I intend upon packing on the ground where I can see it, step on it if I so choose, where I can sort out the profitable from the garbage, some bum is going to find a ton of dirty pictures of me. All the windows in my house are open, and its hot hot hot today in Hollywood. Too hot to pack. I take a lozenge to assist my patch. My arm is throbbing, my head is light, and my mind racing. I can’t pack. I can’t think. I can’t eat and I can’t go back to sleep. None of these things will fix the craving.
But neither will smoking.
So….I can’t smoke either.