Day Number 3

I have created this blog for purely narcissistic purposes having got to day number 3 of my 43rd time of quitting smoking in the last month... I am sure that there are things that I would rather remember when tempted to pick up another dreaded cancer stick...

Smoking websites are rather irritating in their definition of what happens to you when you quit smoking always telling you stupid shit like you'll gain more hairs in your lungs after 3 weeks, or your chances of liver diease are halved (halved from what for fuck sake)... I have been smoking for 10 years and surviving on the knowledge that if I can't see the harm to my body that it isn't happening.

What makes the unintelligent, creatively void health council think that facts like this are going to encourage me not to smoke. There is no part of me that is doing this so that I can get more fur on the inside of my lungs! I am doing this ... fuck why am I doing this ... let's put it down to a predisposition to hating addiction.

The only thing that isn't explained on these helpless websites are the amount of crazy the follows every vain attempt to quit. For example i am currently planning to quit my job move to the himalayas and start a belly dancing course.

I can't sit still and if I do I am comatose, I am unable to speak to people without a fuck you being read on my forehead, my shoelaces being untied causes me to cry and think that life is too hard, and scarier than anything I saw in "The Never Ending Story" when I was five and above all of that and this is the clincher ... I have this little voice in my head saying everything thing from " come on your being stupid it ain't that bad stop being a drama queen and pick up a smoke"... or "How will you ever marry you dirty rocker if you are such a clean living being." "What will you do in all those silences in those awkward conversations if you can't pretend that you are there for the higher purpose of killing your own lungs and theirs while your at it."

This of course is married up with the action of noticing every old homeless guy smoking which takes away the excuses of money and sickness in one failed swoop that is until he coughs part of his ash ladened lung on to the end of my super absorbent canvas shoes...

Logic plays no part in the insanity of this war it is all below the belt and bleeding spleen.

This is my head at day number 3