Saturday, August 07, 2010
Monday, August 02, 2010
Friday, July 09, 2010
.. Five weeks without smoking.
I understand why people 'inflict' their non smoking on others; because these have possibly been 5 of THE most joyless fucking weeks of my existence; remembering I was educated by Nuns and abused by my Step Father.. Yes... Fucking sobering isn't it?!
Horrible. Utterly awful.
I don’t deny I physically FEEL ‘better’.
I sleep better, less disturbed, less teeth grinding but I am beyond fucking miserable.
And I can’t write.
My processes don’t work anymore.
I no longer ‘skin up’, a time when I formulate what I want to write... Access to the keys being blocked by the Whats On TV rolling mat.
A tobacco-less pipe.
The Coitus Interruptus of dope smoking.
It ALMOST gets you stoned but the fit of oxygen sapping coughing rips any real satisfaction from it.
You can’t even enjoy the minuscule amount of stoned you get because your throat feels like it’s had a treatment for barnacles.
I had a beautiful moment in the queue for the Post Office today. It was out the door and under the scaffolding that was up for, Christ knows what.
On it were a couple of blokes in their 50's and 'The Boy'.
The Boy was early 20's, stripped to a pair of shorts and ripped like you wouldn't believe.
He was a magnificent specimen of what the muscled male body can look like.
I was caught looking.
One of the older guys shouted at me,
'Oi! Love! I bet you're wondering where you can get one of these?'
He indicated his younger colleague with a flamboyant flourish of his hand.
I shook my head.
"Nah mate! I was wondering if he had a sister!"
Huge hilarity ensued.
The older guys fell about laughing.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
A few days to catch you up on.
I’ve made it to day six without a cigarette.
Day three was the worst and I did briefly think about buying 10 but didn’t crack.
Fortunately, the weather has been blinding the last few days and I’ve occupied myself in the garden.
I’ve taken millions of photos, potted more vegetables and herbs than the Mansions Kitchens will ever use.
I went to the Geriatric Mass on Sunday, just in case the Screaming and Crying Mass riled me up.
Laugh? I nearly died trying to hold it all in.
Sunday was a warm one so the summer wardrobes were on show, plus the new summer sandals.
Warm feet, no hosiery and new shoes resulted in, for one old dear, a shoe which ‘farted’ with each step.
She appeared oblivious as she walked the length of the church.
During the consecration the lady with the goatee started a really intense coughing fit.
She was doing that thing where you try ‘swallowing’ the cough and trying to keep it in with your mouth shut.
The effort put in to this caused what only can be described as a, catastrophic loss of sphincter control.
She let rip with a fart which sounded like a cross between the clapping favoured by flamenco dancers and bubble wrap being wrung out.
It’s duration also made it impossible to ignore.
I didn’t kneel before my G-d, more fell to my knees in hysteria!
Sadly though these will be my last few weeks of attending Mass.
Father P is leaving and I can’t be arsed to go through the stress of ‘training’ up a new one.
Monday was my first day of Jury service.
The most utterly, pointless and boring day of the year so far.
Eight hours of my life I am never going to get back, which if my Carboxihaemoglobin levels were anything to go by, I could probably do with.
My level was recorded when I started on the patches and because I have absolutely no semblance of deferred gratification, I tested it again yesterday.
The first reading was more or less, “Fucking Hell! Call an ambulance and turn the faulty boiler off!” at 40ppm.
Four days later it was 19ppm.