Friendship. Curious acquaintances have come my way via cigarettes. The three to ten minutes I am outside, when there is another of our dieing breed, we stick like two gringos in Ecuador. We of course talk of the obligatory “this will kill me” or, in my case, “What won’t?” But what we say isn’t as important as the ever-cordial time spent with another person. It’s a surprise bonus on my break from reality.
Break from reality. Reality is sometimes, as someone sharp said, “for sucks.” Someone wants attention I don’t have. There are chores. There are tantrums and sickness. It’s a first world situation. So I smoke. And while the chaos is trapped on the other side of whatever wall, I forget for a bit.
It feels great with alcohol. Alcohol equals yum, yes. But cigarettes and alcohol, that’s magical fantasy land. I smoke, beer in hand, in a bar (bars here are sweet, sweet heaven) and I feel light yet pleasantly grounded. And during that time, I must admit, I feel a little cool.
Rebellion. I enjoy, for the most part, doing whatever people telling me not to. I enjoy rebellion in every aspect of life. It’s a sickeningly sweet feeling to anger another person with my opposition. Of course I ultimately realize that nobody can stop me, so I’m rebelling against nothing, and that’s a bit of a let down. That is, until the next time someone makes a comment about cancer or the smell of me.
The sensations. I love the smell and taste of cigarettes. I love the immediate body-sigh they bring on. The depression in my muscles. Even the psychic depression that hits immediately with thoughts of Why? and What’s the point? – is interesting due to the unyielding objective nature of the high. I love the ensuing sleepiness too. It’s all quite lovely.
Anxiety and depression. Or boredom, which is ultimately anxious or scared or angry, which are also ultimately anxious. What am I anxious or depressed about? Depends. Right now it’s my weight, my various crutches, how I need to exercise and eat soon, finances, et cetera. In that order. The anxiety leads to restlessness that feeling my blood is rushing. As though body seems to be somehow caving in and exploding out from within at the same time. There’s tightness. This of course leads to the Devil’s work in an attempt to alleviate it. I want to alleviate it, I’ve come to decide, because I am afraid of silence, of not achieving, therefore of not mattering, therefore of not being remembered. Yes, I fear these things and I have a cigarette. So, yes, I smoke. And when I do it, I do it existentially.