not sleeping anymore

growing pains

I’m craving a cigarette. I have been for weeks now. and it even seems fitting.
I don’t smoke (I’ve never even tried a cigarette) and frankly I think smoke is obtrusive. yet still, I sit at my desk, restlessly twist my feet and roll my ankles, and think about how I’d like to take a cigarette break.
I’d like to stand outside on the sidewalk, facing the shrubs at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, inhale deeply and exhale smoothly and stare at passing traffic. I’d also like to walk down a brick sidewalk in high- heeled shoes and long earrings and feel the inside of my wrist brush my hip as my bent hand balances the smoke between my fingers.
one time, last week, the craving got so bad that I started wondering if, in fact, I’d been a smoker in a past life. worse, maybe I’ve been “sleep smoking” and I haven’t even been aware of my dirty habit. I considered media influences, which might make me think smoking is cool (because a cartoon camel is doing it), but I don’t watch tv (or at least I didn’t before simon).
regardless, a cartoon camel can't explain the persistence of this craving even after yesterday, when I caught a glimpse of a woman who looked a whole lot like me, standing on the street corner smoking a cigarette. before I could cognitively process my visual field, I thought what I always think when I see someone with freckles, smoking—
it’s dirty.
not bad dirty.
not hot dirty.
dirty.
the kind that leaves a strange and pasty and terribly bitter aftertaste.

posted by d @ 9:12 PM