The Intensity of Abstinence
July 8, 2007
Two months without touching, feeling the need for a long drag on the fag left me pretty much dried up, intellectually and creatively.
Tonight, I broke that long fast with a mug of hot coffee, laced with generous amount of Kahlua and five shots of vodka straight. I do not know why I decided to open the pack of Virginia Slims, neither do I know why I decided to imbibe myself with an intoxicating mix of cocktails. I knew I wanted to feel the shot of nicotine up into myself, resulting in a heady sensation of calmness, contradicted by the emotional clarity. I knew I wanted to let alcohol numb me and render me sleepy, yet untired.
Like abstaining from sex for a long period of time, in order to get a mindblowing bout of fucking. Like laying off the pot and coke for your body to slowly erase any traces of tolerance built up during those party days, in order for a hit to smack you right up into ecstasy. The first drag felt good; I questioned myself why I gave up the chemical-filled sticks.
Perhaps, the act characterises my own little way of being wilful. To show you that I can give up smokes anytime, but I wouldn’t do that just because you told me to. Besides, it’s not an immense task to undertake. I made Gav tell you that I gave up the habit because I feel like it, just to let you know how elusive and cold I can be.
Power-play at its most subtle.
Tonight, I applauded myself for moving on, for having the courage to return for a drive around the spots where we shared the most ridiculous and intimate conversations, where we could stand in long bout of comfortable silence. There is nothing weepy and sentimental about the places anymore, there is no invoked emotion when I listed to The Song. It took me two months and a cigarette to come to this.
“If you lay here, if you just lay here, would you lie here with me and just forget the world”.
There is nothing to forget anymore.
