Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Proof that self-denial is a totally pointless and ghastly exerciseI have decided not to smoke until at least Friday because my voice is lowly getting fucked as was proved when I had to sing sustained notes on Monday night and fell into some atrocious wheezing instead. Also, there's no real need to, I'm not going anywhere where I'd ordinarily feel compelled to smoke. Of course now I've decided that, and given my tobacco to someone else (it was 3am, who seriously makes good rational decisions at 3am?) I am absolutely GAGGING for a cigarette. And a drink. A hefty alcoholic drink. I'm craving in the sort of way I do when I'm in a pub, or within a sniff of alcohol, when you get that panicky tightness in your chest and can think of nothing else. I know it wouldn't be particularly nice, my throat's a bit sore and I've had an on-off cough for ages, but it would be that sort of vindicated feeling of "A-HA!"

Ordinarily I'm not fussed about cigarettes during the day. I've smoked since I was 15 and only started inhaling when I was 16 and a cute boy with dreads pointed out that I looked like a complete twat as I wasn't doing anything apart from slowly giving myself mouth cancer. I can't smoke at all before lunchtime, the very idea of a cigarette makes me feel physically ill. In fact, I'm not physically addicted to cigarettes at all and can quite happily do without: it's the context, the notion of relaxing or indulging in a nice drink, of the prospect of a good conversation with a close friend, of locking yourself in another world for a few hours putting the world to rights or wrongs. Illicit cigarettes are my favourites. And unfortunately, alcohol makes up quite a sizeable portion of my evenings.

It's lunchtime. The only reason I'm physically craving a cigarette is because I can't have one: the only time I ever fall for the "what you can't have is what you want" mantra.

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