I started smoking again Monday, once I found out I didn't get the job. I figure it's somewhat of a consolation prize, magnified by the fact that I didn't get to smoke with my brother when I was home. It was a little unsettling how fast the floodgates opened. How much that urge returned when I finally did it. A lack of tolerance is nice though. Makes things last longer. I combated the munchies with a glass of apple juice, so I'm proud of myself. Plus, one beer yesterday. I'm REALLY proud of myself for that one.
I think I want to start a running journal/log thingy. I've gone four times, and I think it would be a good idea, just for tracking my progress. According to Google maps I ran 1.2 miles yesterday. It was so peaceful compared to running the length of Fayetteville Road. A lot fewer cars, and there's actually shade on the new route. I pass by wooded areas. I see birds. I run over a nearly dried up creek. Quasi-nature is better than nothing. Plus, the scale was back down to 173.something this morning. So I know that cutting back on the beer and increasing my exercise is actually helping. It feels good. At least if I can't be in control of my work life, I can be in control of my personal life.
I wasn't sure at first how I'd feel about smoking again. I didn't do it until like 11 pm Monday, and that was actually a mistake. My brain can be SO active when I'm high. This probably sounds like a contradiction, and I do complete my fair share of mindless tasks while high, but a lot of times, my brain just goes on a hike. Let me try to explain that better. My mind wanders through an endless stream of thoughts and topics I have stored up. Call it a tour of a storage facility if you want. But because I smoked so late, Janine and I had to go to bed before I was even close to coming down. So I laid there in the dark, strolling through a million different thoughts, unable to sleep. It was a weird feeling, but much preferable to having the weed be a sleep aid. That's a bad habit to get into.
This is a random entry today. Marie and Kim sent me a belated birthday gift, a mix CD and one by a band called Sea Wolf. Haven't had a chance to really listen to the CDs, but I want to send them something in return. They represent an entirely different chapter in my life. A connection to a time and place I can't ever get back to. One I'm not sure I'd want to go back to. Drunken and extremely out of control, hung up on a girl I could never keep caged. Hmm, I owe that bird an email. Anyway, they met me when I was unstable, when I was young. One of the more volatile periods in my life. We will always have that summer. What a fucking cliche.
We watched movies and read books and played softball. We took walks and got drunk and jumped in the lake with our clothes on (or maybe that was just me). We wrote poetry and prose and took photographs in Jamestown. We fucked and told lies and made trouble in the quiet Chautauqua streets. I was 21 and invincible and the whole thing was fucking awesome.
I want to write more. I need to make the effort. I say this every time, and I never do it. But maybe this time I will.