a few small repairs: March 2003 Archives

if i could describe the sensation of abject panic without revealing the wildly unflattering personal details at the heart of the attack, i would, but i'm lost for words. digression: the hot-cold air-blower here is a psychotic bastard and my peeps are becoming dessicated. my peeps, dammit.

so i fight panic with denial and mad bargaining, and within minutes (well, a hundred twenty of them anyway) i am back to my peeps and froststroke and heatbite and ... dammit my peeps. i'll have to eat the entire exposed tray within the next few minutes or all's lost.

and as to that panic, i have hatched a wacky plan and much hilarity will ensue, so cue the applause sign and cut to commercial, gotta pay the bills on this sitcom.

cigarette. c-i-g-a-r-e-t-t-e. i have some. in my car. cold out, bare feet, probably don't care, even though the whole piercing as reward/pacifier for a week w/o cigarettes (not without them, they were with me, in my car, on the floor, i just wasn't smoking them) but i am so fucking hungry. more or less fasting at this point, the smoothie didn't appeal, nothing does, except things that need chewing and me not ready to be doing that and hungry i am hungry ... and oh you know a ciggie'd fix that at least a little bit.

the sprint across the cold yard did drive a point home about my desperate mindset. think if i could just stop this here and say no i will not be reduced to this! that is if you want to think about that, i myself need to find a lighter.

and in that instant take the day counter back to zero but you know i'll just lay a little spin on it instead - hey one ciggie in eight days. go me.

fucked up part about cigarettes is that they do, indeed, fix whatever's wrong with me that made me think i needed them, it's never about oh shit this ain't cuttin' it. it's ahh.

fuck.