Sail The Seven Seas At Least

I have now quit smoking for 5 days, and while I have cried twice, I have not yet spazzed. At the very least, I do not plan on blogging about 9/11 today. Or even Britney Spears. No disaster blogging at all. So that’s a good sign.

I’m sleeping and running and drinking lots of water. I even have Lorazepam in case I want to smoke again. Lorazepam is like marzipan for my brain. I haven’t taken any yet, but if I spazz at all then I know I’ll be fine. Benzodiazepines are MUCH more effective than the Cinnamon Altoids that the smoking cessation pamphlet suggested.

I know that I often brag about being single, especially the fact that I don’t have a guy dragging me to stupid crap that I don’t want to attend. However, I am almost wishing for a boyfriend today, or at least ONE single girlfriend (I honest to god have none of these and I miss them terribly), so that I could drag someone to Kansas with me for a day.

Gogol Bordello is playing in Lawrence, Kansas on Halloween. I am DYING to go. I want to get carnal with Eugene Hütz, and this is the closest he will be to me for years and years. But honestly, who is going to drive 4 hours and back just to see a bunch of gypsies with me? I have no problem going alone but I would definitely have to smoke cigarettes for a road trip like that.

And NO, I am not driving to Kansas with two people who are dating or married. You have no idea what it’s like to be stuck in a car with you people. Rhorf.

My crush on Eugene Hütz makes me sad. I am genuinely bummed out that he doesn’t like me back and I’m jealous of the pretty girls in his band. I feel like he already broke up with me. Perhaps it is for the best if I don’t go. It’s reminding me of why I banned crushes and relationships in the first place. I don’t like it when other people affect my feelings.

I suppose it’s time to pick a new crush that doesn’t hurt as much. I choose: Buster Keaton.

Maybe someday I will pick a realistic person. Someone I’ve met. Someone nearby. Someone honest and funny and motivated and silly and smart and basically drug-free and hopefully unequivocally tall.

But that would require trusting a boy, which is something I can’t allow myself to do anymore. No way. I’m no dope. I will stick with Buster Keaton.

The problem with quitting smoking is that it forces you to face all of the issues you covered up by smoking. Remember how much I DIDN’T care about this stuff when I had a cigarette in my hand? I mean, I would already be in Kansas. Instead I’m just sitting here, hating my job and hating life and hating everyone who talks to me.

Note to all my friends with babies (which is like all you freaks): when your kid wants to start smoking, tell them to look up these old entries where Aunt Stephie goes coo-coo-bananas from withdrawl. I will scare them straight. Do you guys think I will be back to normal by then? Oh, I hope so.

Fuck all of you for lecturing me to quit. Now look at what you have to read. Serves you right.