Fat Fuck Versus Himself pt IV: Lungs.

Today I woke up late.

Worse than late, it was to the sound of a laughing roommate. They could have been laughing at anything; but, the state of waking up late, just being all bitter ensures that no matter what they were really laughing at, in my head, I was the subject of laughter.

Dammit.

There was one smoke left in the pack, had I been smart I'd have had it last night before bed, I didn't take it with me. I left it on the bed.

Obviously if I'm typing I'm obsessing over it.

I was trying to figure out when the perfect timing would be to quit smoking and I discovered that there really isn't a good time.

(Here is the part where I beat the drum again)

I know they'll kill me. I know they killed my Dad and will probably kill my brother. They will kill me too.

They make my clothing, breath, car, hair, hands, and kitties (after petting) stinky.

The writing on the wall that I'm in an unhealthy situation usually needs to be written across the wall in blood (or corn syrup) for me to see it in bold Technicolor.

Maybe I picked the wrong day to quit smoking.

Lunch couldn't have come any faster today. I hit Moe's, its $5.00 burrito Monday... Sick!

Walking into, and out of, Moe's I scanned the parking lot like a terminator hot on John Connors's trail scanning every pocket for the tell tale rectangle, every hand for a lighter and even looking for actual cigarettes!

Had I gotten one what would I have actually done?

How do I justify being weak so fast?

Have we not leaned that we can take a monster fucking beating and bounce back better than we were left?

I can romanticize smoking all I want and getting all righteous about how all these damned bastards in Washington are taking away my rights to blah blah blah; however, if the taxes didn't bring the average price to over $7.00 per pack I would not be ‘forced’ into this position.

Govt. 1, Smokers 0

Good.

Today,

Steve 1, Cigarettes 0

A Start.