Wednesday, September 17, 2008

"Punch Me in the Fucking Face"

That's what I told a friend years and years ago during a most unpleasant stretch of time in college. I actually don't remember the exact string of events, but I remember they culminated in me taking on an office chair.
The result was a handful of splinters.
That's it.
And I immediately went out and got a pack of smokes. I'd lasted a week? 5 days?
Regardless, on that first drag I felt all of my calm returning - flooding back into me. My harmonious existence had been restored. I looked at him and said, "If I ever try and quit again, punch me in the fucking face."
"Gladly," he said.
We both nodded knowingly and I went through the pack in 4 hours.
Now, what I think is 13 years later, I'm on that path again, and he's somewhere in the wilds of Pennsyltucky, unavailable for the required knock to the noggin.
My doc gave me the run-down on this shit and warned me about the vivid dreams. I laughed and explained that I used to do... well, I lived hard around the end of my college career and for a bit right after. I explained that lived hard enough for myself, him, his nurse, and a few others.
He laughed, gave me my scrip, and hooked me up with a $30-off card (the shit is $131.99).
I took the first pill last night.
Strange disconnection.
A bit of dizziness.
Some drowsiness.
Fitful sleeping.
But, I noticed last night that that a few hours after taking the pill - and this may be all in my head - cigarettes tasted differently. They were flat, unsatisfying, and well... meh. They weren't bad, really, but they just weren't... I dunno.
I love my Camel Lights, but these tasted like Merits, or... I dunno... something bland.
Another 4 or 5 days and I actually stop the smoking.

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