Monday, December 31, 2012

Sketchbook: Status Update 2012

Dear 2012,

Thank you for your moments of sucking, so that other moments felt better. Thank you for the new job and pay increase. And the dental! I really needed the dental, so thank you. Thank you for beginning the year with Mom on Chemo and ending with Mom Not Cancer Filled. Thank you for the surface tension and bubbles (you know what I mean, 2012). Thank you for not blowing up. That was pretty nice of you. Thank you for the awesome astronomical phenomena from one sky sailor to another. Thank you for also being the Year of Dragon because, as you know, we dragons are awesome. 

Now, 2012, may you move on to memory and shed yourself like a theme transforming in a story. It’s time for a new chapter on the revolution around this sun of ours. For some reason, I imagine you, 2012, like a lover one kisses one last time and then walks away from. Its not you, it’s me, and I am ready for a new year.


Saturday, December 22, 2012

me trying to be nonsmoker: first the withdrawal

Saturday, December 22, 2012
Diary of a Nonsmoker: day one. my brain involuntarily flashing a cigarette in my hand lighting the end. Withdrawal feels like promises of happiness. Disphoria, body tingles all over like I’m bending. This pit of my stomach craving ingestion. Brain flutters ideas of what could fill me. I’m currently drinking mint tea to keep the vortex from focusing on starches and candies. Drinking a glass of cranberry juice for the sugar boost. It’s the images in my head and the body halls that I find the hardest. They promise me so much, If I just cave into the day dream. Even now, I want to end this sentence with a cigarette.

waves. I’m taking a nap.

Slept all day, now sick to my stomach.

Feeling surreal when nothing surreal is going on, I decide to go grocery shopping. Jim takes over driving the cart, he keeps calling my attention back, “hey zombie”. My motor skills stuttering he opens the bottles while we sample smells of body wash – impromptu aromatherapy. It’s not until the dish soap aisle when I discover inhaling lemon scratches the spot in my head popping hallucinations of breath catch then hold the wafting carcinogens eating a nice little buzz on the back of my brain before exhaling. Yeah, lemon scratches that.

My friend is patient with my ambivalence in making decisions. I’m out of it like a hippie. I feel drunk without alcohol. Withdraw is not so bad, except the pictures rolling around in my head. Little earthquakes of radar, bouncing off my skin and shocking the muscles. I am cautious. Cuidado. I can see myself zoning out to the point where I manifest the cigarette in my hand welcoming the hallucination into reality. Fuck, I do love to inhale.

Jim keeping me company, I do not slip away. Instead I chew a straw, sniff the lemon soap until day one is done and its time to go to bed.