Interference

After a long day at work, I come over to Jessie's house in an attempt to strengthen our bond, our closeness. I want peace and love, like any good pseudo-hippie girl wants.

Of course, I come "home" to Jessie's. It is no surprise that her mother has oldies music blaring loud enough to cause serious aural bleeding. I cannot escape it. Jessie cannot escape it. I can only tune it out or leave. How fucking symbolic is this for the interference we are so weary of enduring? I want out. Preferably, both of us out together with a life to call ours.

I woke up feeling that I no longer want to smoke. I have not smoked all day. The only other time this urge occurred was after getting sick with a chest cold, never while "healthy". I have a theory as to why that is though.

I can be remarkably persistent in the way a stubborn 5 year old can hold his breath in a tantrum until he passes out. But this streak can lead me to perceive a situation as being one over which I have little control in that I am not willing to part with one thing for another. So I wait in limbo, growing increasingly frustrated. This everyday wear and tear is coupled with other things, namely the impending layoff I face at a stressful job, separation from people I have grown to care about try as I might to keep work separate from personal life.

I think I have simply projected the control I do have on the situation (but refuse to use, at least on the root issue) to another desire instead. Smoking. Smoking behavior is predominantly intended to soothe, calm, pleasure. It seems counterproductive to curtail a behavior meant to illicit the pleasure I find little of in life right now. But not really. I imagine it's like a cutter that might self-mutilate in order to express the pain within, try to translate some raw, dark emotions into something understandable, perceivable.

I may have just twisted that tendency of mine into a choice that might turn out to be healthy for me.

Right now, I am sitting here with Jessie and Debbie smoking and being frazzled around with the fucking soul-piercing music, people bitching, shit dropping, dogs barking - enough to send me into an anxiety attack. I think the vacuum is about to be added to the mix soon. Normally I would bust out a cigarette but I don't think I will. I'll see where this goes.

It's been several minutes since the last paragraph. It is now quieter - the CD has ended, laundry is just in the dryer - and I sit here alone in my thoughts.