Just stop talking to me. Your voice is grating and I am just as likely to stab you with a stress ball.
I thought I had weathered the worst of my cravings. Apparently not. The incessant grating of my nerves against sandpaper is horrid. The intense urge to strangle idiots is overwhelming.
Breathe through the pain, breathe through the pain. It's like a gay man's mantra really.
The ability to concentrate on anything is shot to pie... hey look a new email... what was I saying? Disofficer attention... attention deficit... what were you saying? Hi!
There are so many things that I could rant out but where to start? The lying customer's? There lips were moving... that's how I knew they were lying. The showdown between the nervous ranga and smug know it all in the Australian government? Maybe how my entire chest and sides hurt before from having a coughing fit. Perhaps... no, never mind. I'm having a bad day. Let's just leave it at that.
I think I may just put my head on my desk (beat it repeatedly) and have a bit of a nap (knock myself out). This may mean a difficult conversation explaining why I was sleeping (out cold) while at work (in hell).
Really, I don't know why I get out of bed some days - I really don't.
For once there will be an entry with no wails or torment or crying about how horrid the day was. Actually, apart from the rising mercury (the day is currently 36 degrees Celsius), the day went quite well.
Today is the first day that I haven't felt the need to use violence against inanimate objects to prove a point. Thursday, it was a defenseless plastic cup. Friday, saw my wrath escape towards my work shoes. I no longer have work shoes. Consequently, I do have a spare zipper and a few scraps of leather. Today has been subdued. No destruction. No tantrums. A day that was desolation free.
This calm and near serenity... it's a little ray of hope that I may be able to kick smoking once and for all. I may now be able to tell people proudly that I am a reformed smoker. Here's hoping that once I do, I don't turn into my father and a loud mouthed reformed smoker... the ones that everyone hates. You know one... just thin... Yes, them. I saw that recognition in your eye. They are a reformed smoker. The scourge of all evil in things tobacco related.
Is this the eye of the storm? Have I entered some strange limbo where my body isn't quite sure what is going on and someone is about to jump up from behind the couch yelling "SURPRISE!"
Of course, the logical reaction to that is to shoot them but that's neither her nor there. They shouldn't have broken into my paranoia and hidden behind the couch.
With all this aside, I believe it is time to walk out into the daylight, burn through three layers of skin in 2.5 minutes and returned something a little better than a charred corpse.
BLINDING PAIN!
I would rather be forced to listen to a Hanson and Rebecca Black duet... make this hurting stop! Feeling the stabbing pain in my brain. The banging and throbbing of desire for a smoke is like nothing I have experienced before. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. In with calm and out with hate. In with venom and out with acid. Wait, no wrong. In with calm and out with hate.
I knew that this would never be an easy task. I knew it was going to be a trial that would test my patience and endurance. I didn't realise just how much. That small child that was running in the park out the front. It's cheerful, happy laughter ringing clearly through the air. The melodious tinkle that make most people smile. There's a slave trade in Melbourne, who knew?
I have smiled and nodded politely. I have grimaced and looked away. I have belted an unsuspecting teenager's head against a brick wall. They cried. It was nice.
I have had highs and lows today. I have laughed and I have snarled about people's blatant stupidity who asked me how today is going. How the hell do you think it's going? Do my glowing red eyes not give it away? How about the fact that when I touch a crucifix it bursts into flames? The fact small animals flee from my path should tell you that I'm. Not. Fucking. Happy.
The messages of support have been amazing and I can't say how much I appreciate them. I even got an offer for someone to be a character witness in my murder trial. My solicitor has been pre-warned.
The weekend is nigh. My heaviest smoking time. Let's see how this goes. I may make the Rudd vs Gillard saga look like something from Twilight - star crossed lovers who tremble at the sign of a toothpick. A story of a choice between bestiality and necrophilia as told by a teenage girl.
Breathe in, breathe out. Neighbors arguing in Cantonese. Breathe in, breathe out. High pitched Cantonese. Breathe in, breathe out. Hello? Immigration?
So I've finally decided this is it. I've had enough. I'm going to beat this. I'm going to hold my head high and say "I did it!"
This is day one of being a reformed smoker.
This is day one of a healthier new me.
This is day one of my new life.
Oh dear Lord! What the hell have I done? There appears to be a good indicator that I may go to gaol for murder.
It appears that now I've decided to quit that people have decided to up their stupidity. Yeah, I didn't think it was possible either but apparently it is. Who knew?
Concentration is shot to pieces. My irritability is sky high and my short fuse is now ever shorter. One more person refers to me as cheerful is going to be eating through a straw for the next three months.
The hammers in my brain are banging out a beat like something that even Rebecca Black would turn her nose up at. It's all I can do not to yell and scream. I started to yell before... I never realised my voice could his such a high pitch. I think I may need to check that I still have testicles and haven't grown a vagina over night.
I'm not going cold turkey. I've tried that before. I nearly had to move out. Now, instead I have patches. Little round sticky things that release nicotine into my body. I'm not 100% sure that it's working or if it's just sitting on my shoulder taunting me that I should roll it and smoke it. No, no bad thoughts. Can't smoke the plastic patch.
I was in the bathroom before and saw a guy looking back at me. I started to mouth off asking what he was looking at. Told him a picture will last longer. About 2.5 minutes into my verbal abuse I stopped. I looked at the guy again. Well bugger me if I wasn't yelling at my mirror reflection. Time to clean my glasses.
I'm determined I can do this. I've had enough. I don't like my mouth tasting like an ashtray. The constant burned feeling in my mouth. I want to be able to breathe easier, live to see ... well ... something interesting I'm sure. Until then, I'll just breathe through the pain. Stop smirking at me... I'm in pain here!
Just stop talking to me. Your voice is grating and I am just as likely to stab you with a stress ball.
