i've come a short way, baby
I've come a short way, baby
The cigarettes are staring at me. I don't throw them out or flush them down the toilet because Justin is still smoking and he would not be happy about that. And only one of us can be unhappy in this house at a time. It's my turn.
They stare at me and mock me and call me.
Come taste my refreshing tar and nicotine.
Come inhale my toxic smoke.
Come soothe your tense nerves by lighting me on fire.
I tremble and shake and lunge for the box. It moves out of my reach, as if some unseen hand has pushed the cigarettes away from me. Perhaps I am just hallucinating. No sleep, no smoke makes me delerious.
I can feel the leftover nicotine rising into my throat. It pushes its taste into my mouth, making me crave the fresh taste of menthol. The only thing keeping me lighting up is this flu. I know the cigarette would not taste as wonderful as I want it to.
I will snap and bite heads off and kick puppies and eat kitties today. I will probably give some old lady the finger and make one of my kids cry. I will stare down the pack of cigarettes, matching wits and strength against tobacco.
Bitch. Moan. Bang Head. Sneer at cigarettes. Puke guts into toilet bowl. Repeat hourly.
This is my Monday.