Day Eight

That's right. Day Eight means one whole week smoke-free. I am still having some difficulty comprehending the temporal element of this project; the fact that I will never be a 'smoker' again. As I contemplate the significance of a smoke-free week, something inside keeps telling me, 'Man, it's been long enough. You can have one now.' God, this is so fucking annoying. I just want to be done with this. My empowered feeling is beginning to subside, and I'm starting to get frustrated with myself; with my inability to be completely free of cigs after a week without them, as if I was just on vacation and will soon return to my normal self. This - me - is my normal self. I just want to be free.

On a positive note, I attended the Alonso's Non-denominational Christmas Party and am happy to report that I did not indulge. Difficult does not even begin to describe it. Servers, bartenders, and kitchen-folk are certainly apt to partake in tobacco consumption, but throw in some alcohol and holiday cheer and you have a big fucking cig-fest. And I felt like a junky; plain and simple. I certainly don't want to sound overly dramatic, but looking at the Van Goughey smoke hovering above our heads and its exquisite source, I felt myself getting sucked back in. I could visualize myself with a cig hanging out of my mouth in deep respiratory ecstasy; entranced like perceiving the monolith in 2001: Space Odyssey. I just wanted it in my mouth...Cigs still turning me gay I guess...