2002-04-29 || 8:03 p.m.

|| nicotine a go go ||

oh dag. i am trying to stop the smoking. because for the last couple days the lungs and throat have thrown in their proverbial towels, are shaking black and blue fists at me. 'we are tired of this!' they whine in tinny nasally voices. 'you don't look cool, jennifer anne, you look like a pucker-mouthed old lady!' and they steer me over to the nearest store-front window to show me the lines, the way my skin is dull in sunlight. 'it hurts, man! don't you care about us?'

and i didn't smoke all day. i drank two times my daily allotment of water. i imagined all the blackened parts, all the mucus and moaning cilia, and remembered the npr spot on self-hypnotizing i heard on the car ride home last night. 'i can do it i can do it i can do it,' i whisper. 'you can do it you can do it you can do it,' the lungs and throat cough and chant back, patting my shoulder.

and i got home. i sat on my hands while water boiled. i thought of other things to do, like cleaning the apartment and rewriting a chapter and calling my sister. i ate my dinner. i drank my water.

and as a reward for all my efforts, i smoked a cigarette.

and. it was. very. good.

the smoke is a terrible dingy color against white. there is graffiti all over the back of my throat, dirty words and skulls and crossbones and surgeon general's warnings.

but it's not so bad. one cigarette. at the end of the day. maybe it's better to cut down gradually.

and then i smoked another one. quick-like. which was not as satisfying. and the lungs heckled me a bit throughout.

but that's it. for the day. no more.

nope.

the lungs are very angry. they have enlisted a couple ribs and a smarmy twitching by the right eye to show their dissatisfaction.

the throat has threatened to make picketing signs and a contract.

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