Broke Down

I should write about this because it represents a serious failure on my part.

I have a cigarette in my mouth currently. It makes me feel like shit. But, you know....I already felt like shit. I feel shitty when I smoke, shitty when I don't.

It all started with a relatively harmless phone call from my ex, hereafter known as goat boy. Harmless if you count the fact that two out of the last three times I saw him I was confessing my undying love (as was he, mind you). The problem with that scenario was that his baby brother had just been shot and killed. Never a good situation, especially when you put he and I and mucho Guinness in the same room.

So - the point is that I should probably have realized that goat boy and I just cannot be friends. It really doesn't matter to me that he is getting married, he's been engaged for about a year already and our stupid asinine relationship began way before that. What matters is that he's an arrogant, cocky, immature jerk. I know these things, of course, but I love all the other parts about him. It's possible there is no one else in the world I am meant to be with, if you believe in that sort of thing. No person of the male gender that is not related to me has ever understood me or known me better. This is why I love him, I think.

He called me and we talked about stupid stuff, Paul Newman movies, music, my raging desire to quit smoking....and then he told me that there was such little joy in the world that he would never deny himself smoking.

Then right before we disconnected, he told me he loved me. He hung up.

I am smart. I know when I'm being played. This boy has been playing me from the beginning. I know it's very possible he doesn't really love me and he enjoys being with me because of the intellectual challenge, and the supreme physical chemistry. Whatever.

I almost had a breakdown over my lack of cigarettes at that point. I threw a tissue box. Agony overtook me. I washed my face, put on some pajamas, and was about to turn out the lights when he called and asked me to have coffee with him.

Uh huh.

He was drunk and flirtatious and all those things I knowingly fall for each and every time, because I don't care or have enough self-respect to walk away. I bought a pack of cigarettes and smoked with him.

We parted as we always do, with regret and longing, knowing that this isn't the last time we will cheat. I continued to smoke while driving home, and I had a cigarette this morning.

Almost done with the pack now and my chest feels heavy and disgusting. I have a terrible headache and I don't actually care enough to be angry about my breakdown. It's like, meh. I will not keep on with the cigarettes but I have this compulsive desire to finish the pack.

Goat boy's brief appearance isn't why I smoked, not even remotely. He and I have been doing this song and dance for so long it feels tired and boring. What made me smoke is an extreme unhappiness with my life, with or without cigarettes. It just becomes more acute without the smokes.

And.....there you have it. I am on a pit stop but I guess I'll get back in the car and keep driving. Fucking lame analogy, but basically the truth.

Also, the physicist hasn't called me yet. Asshole, it's a goddamn courtesy, especially when you have a piece of her clothing that she's asked for. Fucking look for it!