Ok. It’s day one of me quitting smoking. I am journaling about it because it makes it real and cements my commitment to quit… leaving no reason for me to rationalize it away. Corny enough, I was inspired by someone who was inspired of the Death of Peter Jennings (like the capitalization? me too), but inspired a little late… after he found out he had a tumor on the roof of his mouth where the pipe tip sat, which had to be lazered away. It was malignant, so that’s good, but who wants to be spewing blood for weeks?
So, here it is Day One. Not yet over. It’s been okay. I haven’t had a single craving yet. I’m just so fucking hungry! Amanda is getting me a burrito, while I sit here on my lunch hour because I have to get my oil changed in my car. I don’t want to drive my car anymore until I have my paycheck and I know I can pay to fix it if it dies on the way home! I am such a procrastinator… why do I always have to wait until I am in perioulous danger… or at least in a financial quagmire?
Now I don’t know if it’s lack of nicotine, but fuck it. I am going to complain. You may have noticed that you can’t read a single entry of mine unless you are my friend. Or you haven’t noticed, because if you’re reading this, you’re already my friend. That’s because they are all locked on friends-only. Why, you ask?
I checked my e-mail this morning and got this message responding to one of my previous entries:
Somebody replied to your LiveJournal post in which you said:
q: what do you get when you have 125 beers, 8 packs of smokes, 5 hours, 13 beautiful people and 2 joints on the guadalupe river?
a: boozing, vices, drama, laughter, craziness, dorsett’s greasy dinery food, dizziness, exhaustion, the worst sunburn in my entire life.
Their reply was:
Are you sure those 13 people were beautiful? Booze and drugs may make it seem so. But then again its how they are in the inside that makes them beautiful or not. But its not something easily earned.
Well, fuck YOU anonymous person who may be some uptight self-righteous, overly-religious person that I may even know from my past who has lurched around the internet world and found me, which MEANS we are NOT friends. What the hell makes you think you know anything about my friends and their possibly-not-beautiful insides. Yeah, I should watch out when I am writing entries the day after I go out on the river, forget the sun getting to my head, the drugs and alcohol made me make friends who were possibly not really beautiful. I’ve been hoodwinked!
YOU are going to be the father whose children don’t confide in you, who is always the last to know in your circle of friends because the people you think you are closest to don’t feel comfortable enough to tell you, who lives every day like it is your last, not because you fear you won’t live life to its fullest, but because you fear that you are committing a grave sin when you satisfy any of your earthly desires, who winds up with lung cancer and kidney failure and never got the chance to get high or crunk. You don’t know shit about beautiful, about sharing your desires and dreams with other people. Judge away, goldenboy, go fuck yourself.