New Year's Horseshit
Resolutions:
1. Quit smoking.
2. Lose twenty five pounds.
3. Play more guitar.
4. Continue not drinking.
5. Lift more weights.
6. Eat better.
7. Stop giving a fuck about writing good poems.
8. Write a poem.
Progress:
1. 5 1/2 days without a cigarette. You know that feeling, when you lose your keys, and you're already 25 minutes late? Frantic panic. All day. Every day. You're still alive because you're nowhere near me. I hate everyone and everything. Ask me about this, next week. I'm terrified that being an ex smoker really means being a smoker who's just out of cigarettes all the time, and too proud to bum them.k
Stuff I punctuate with cigarettes:
Dinner. I now no longer know when I am done eating. If left to my own devices, I will apparently eat until I am sick, because my body doesn't know I'm not hungry, anymore. I've resorted to portion control, in that I decide what I am going to eat, before I eat it. No seconds. I'm hungry all the time.
Frustration. I need an anger management class. "I'm going to go smoke." = "I need five minutes alone so that I don't break your fucking face off." Who knew? I'm doing a lot of deep breathing. It doesn't look as relaxed as lighting a cigarette. "Do you want coke with dinner?" "GO FUCK YOURSELF."
Being awake. Last cigarette of the day? Mental trigger that says "go to bed." Guess who's sleeping like shit?
Being nervous in public. You fucking shitbags freak me the fuck out. I hate being in public.
I loathe this. I want a cigarette.
Don't you dare congratulate me on making a better health choice, "sticking to it," or even fucking mention that I've quit, or i will go right out and buy a pack of cigarettes. You patronizing fuck. Chew my underanus.
2. Gained an astounding FIVE POUNDS IN FIVE DAYS. This resolution is now, "Lose Thirty Pounds". Ask me again, next week. With luck, I'll have taken up smoking, again, and lost the weight. (Currently: 210lbs)
3. Up an hour a day. Awesome. Put an electric guitar on layaway. No, really. Layaway.
4. Had a beer. Not worried about it.
5. I don't own any weights, so I've been doing pushups and such, instead. It's going. Ask me again, next week, when I start running. Maybe. If there's not a foot of snow on the ground. Maybe I'll jump rope, instead.
6. Whatever. I quit smoking and I'm still nic-fitting. Ask me again, next week. (I'm eating smaller portions and forcing myself not to eat when my nicotine center says "feed this.")
7. Fuck poems.
8. Not yet.
1. Quit smoking.
2. Lose twenty five pounds.
3. Play more guitar.
4. Continue not drinking.
5. Lift more weights.
6. Eat better.
7. Stop giving a fuck about writing good poems.
8. Write a poem.
Progress:
1. 5 1/2 days without a cigarette. You know that feeling, when you lose your keys, and you're already 25 minutes late? Frantic panic. All day. Every day. You're still alive because you're nowhere near me. I hate everyone and everything. Ask me about this, next week. I'm terrified that being an ex smoker really means being a smoker who's just out of cigarettes all the time, and too proud to bum them.k
Stuff I punctuate with cigarettes:
Dinner. I now no longer know when I am done eating. If left to my own devices, I will apparently eat until I am sick, because my body doesn't know I'm not hungry, anymore. I've resorted to portion control, in that I decide what I am going to eat, before I eat it. No seconds. I'm hungry all the time.
Frustration. I need an anger management class. "I'm going to go smoke." = "I need five minutes alone so that I don't break your fucking face off." Who knew? I'm doing a lot of deep breathing. It doesn't look as relaxed as lighting a cigarette. "Do you want coke with dinner?" "GO FUCK YOURSELF."
Being awake. Last cigarette of the day? Mental trigger that says "go to bed." Guess who's sleeping like shit?
Being nervous in public. You fucking shitbags freak me the fuck out. I hate being in public.
I loathe this. I want a cigarette.
Don't you dare congratulate me on making a better health choice, "sticking to it," or even fucking mention that I've quit, or i will go right out and buy a pack of cigarettes. You patronizing fuck. Chew my underanus.
2. Gained an astounding FIVE POUNDS IN FIVE DAYS. This resolution is now, "Lose Thirty Pounds". Ask me again, next week. With luck, I'll have taken up smoking, again, and lost the weight. (Currently: 210lbs)
3. Up an hour a day. Awesome. Put an electric guitar on layaway. No, really. Layaway.
4. Had a beer. Not worried about it.
5. I don't own any weights, so I've been doing pushups and such, instead. It's going. Ask me again, next week, when I start running. Maybe. If there's not a foot of snow on the ground. Maybe I'll jump rope, instead.
6. Whatever. I quit smoking and I'm still nic-fitting. Ask me again, next week. (I'm eating smaller portions and forcing myself not to eat when my nicotine center says "feed this.")
7. Fuck poems.
8. Not yet.