Dreadful Nonsense

All this afternoon, and creeping in to this evening's festivities, I've had an almost overwhelming urge to have a cigarette. I haven't, as yet, succumbed, but it's all a bit touch and go. If, for example, one single cigarette was present in or around the house that I'm currently sitting in, I'd kill any person who stood in between me and that cigarette, and then flick the ashes on their lifeless bloodied corpse while laughing triumphantly and then immediately coughing and spluttering, because I'm not very good at laughing while my lungs are filled with sweet, sweet tar any more.

The reasons for my craving are two-fold: my brother has been here for most of the day, hogging the computer with his girlfriend as they search the interweb for a house to buy. This in itself was not a big problem, because it meant that I could be freed up to do other things, like read books and tidy and walk to the bank and back and be completely soaked by the rain. The problem lay in the fact that, every five minutes until I left the house to walk to the bank in the pouring rain, my brother kept asking me for cigarettes. He refuses to accept the fact that I've given up smoking, because the last time I told him I'd given up smoking, I was still hiding cigarettes in my bedroom and refusing the acknowledge their existence, except for when my parents went to bed and then I'd be sitting on the step outside smoking my happy little lungs off. My brother, because he's that way inclined, was kind enough back then to steal those cigarettes from my room and smoke them himself. This is what is known as the perfect sibling crime, since I couldn't fucking complain that he'd nicked them, since I wasn't supposed to have them in the first place, and he could therefore deny ever having done it. He is a genius in sibling crime terms. So, every five minutes until I left the house to ensure getting a complete and total soaking, I was reminded of cigarettes, and when I start thinking of cigarettes, I find it very difficult to stop.

That brought on the cravings. What's kept them up through to this evening is the heavy cloud of boredom that has landed on my shoulders and refuses to leave. I am, you'll already know this, very very very easily bored. I get up and walk away in the middle of most television shows, which is why I like american telly so much - every five minutes something exciting happens to ensure that people stay to watch after the ad breaks. British telly tends to invariably slump around the 10 minute mark, leaving me enough time to wander off and forget what I had been doing, and by the time I've remembered I've lost any interest I once had in it. Once the boredom has properly set in, I can't read, I can't watch tv, I can't concentrate on dvds I haven't seen before and can't decide out of the ones I have seen before if I want to see them again. I'm trying to lay off the telephone, due to the magnitude of my last phone bill, and being stony broke means that I can't pop off to the pub because people stare at you if you sit there without a drink, and I'm terribly susceptible to peer pressure.

I don't know why my brain therefore thinks that cigarettes will help pass the time - there'd be about 7 minutes of feeling all "YAY!" followed by a good four days of feeling guilty and disappointed that I'd given in again. Plus the choruses of "Join Us..." that would come from all of my still smoking friends and family members would be almost impossible to resist.

I ain't going to, though. What I'm going to do tonight is sit down and watch Happiness in the darkness of my room, swearing at Lara Flynn Boyle's far too thin self, and maybe follow that up immediately with Magnolia, because Phillip Seymour Hoffman always makes me want to be a better person (even in Punch Drunk Love when he plays the most horrible person in the world).

This entry was posted on 20 September 2004 at 8:19 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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