Day One

Blame it on the medication
But you can not blame it on me
Inside of your eyes there's a storm
But you can not blame it on me


When I woke up this morning, I couldn't get my mind off that devil's reefer, and drinking my morning coffee didn't help either.  I felt heavily compelled, heavier than the stone in my chest.  Then I thought about my exam in three hours, and all was but a mess.

Only twelve hours had passed since my last smoke, and my head already felt as if it was about out to split.  It's sounds pathetic, but I'm full fledged smoker, and threads of doubt were creeping.  My Grannies grave holds my word, but I wasn't sure if I was going to make it, as the demons started taunting my veins, I realized my first battle had begun.

It's still a mystery how I managed to push myself through the day?   I couldn't think straight, nor could I communicate.  All my thoughts were cascaded with a blurry tinge of eeriness.  Smoking was a habitual part of my daily routine, and without nicotine I felt lost.

I would usually have a cigarette after I ate, between my classes, waiting for a bus, during my work breaks, and generally anytime I felt bored, which is mostly whenever I would breathe.  I felt like smoking a cigarette broke up my monotonous daily routine, but now all I could do was bite my lip.

Luckily I had the support of my girlfriend, with whom I spoke with on the phone, at around noon.  "How are you feeling baby," she asked me. "I almost beat the shit out a cop, and right now I'm contemplating whether to push over the library book shelves, like dominoes, but other than that I'm feeling fantastic," I replied.

I was serious, but we both laughed.  "Baby no one is stronger than you.  I believe in you, and I know you can do it," she said.  "You don't know how mush that means to me sugar, thanks.  I love you too," I replied.  Our conversation made me feel better, and we chatted for a few more minutes.  Then I had to peace out, and go to take my exam.

On the way to my classroom, my headaches began following a blurred line of thought.  I tried to remain composed, but my focus kept scatting on its own offbeat time.  Looking for a way through, without using that way out way out, I resiliently reached the lecture hall.

 After I took my chair in the ominously grey room,  I told my compadre about my pledge. "That sucks to be you man.  You sure you don't want to have just one," he mumbled out.  "Yeah I'm positive.  It's only my first day I can't be that much of a chump," I replied.  "You picked a hell of a day quit, more power to ya," he added.

 Then the exam came flying in on me, and I felt like I was looking straight up at b52 plane…voila…bombs away.  All I could think about was getting out of that stuffy room, and chain smoking cigarettes until my chest hurt.  I thought about just rolling up the exam and smoking that.  Though, I did manage to chicken scratch my way through it, and quickly retreated to fresh air.

When I reached the exit doors I ran into the same classmate that I talked to when I arrived. "I hate to be your devils peak, but after that nightmare, I know you want one of these," he said, while holding up a cigarette.  In  my mind I thought about shattering his jaw, but instead I simply replied, "Thanks asshole, but I'm good on that."  Just got to let it pass, I thought.

The last six hours of my day consisted of me staring at a computer screen, with my thumb up my ass.  I was supposed to write two papers, and for two consecutive hours I couldn't even jot down one sentence.  My mind was constipated, and my creative juices were damned off by lack of nicotine.  I thought about screaming, just to make sure I wasn't having a nightmare.

 I'd work on one paper for about a half an hour, and then I'd quit on it because I couldn't find a place to start.  Then I'd switch to the other paper, repeating this cycle for about four hours.  Finally I was inspired to write down a few meaningless thoughts.   Though overall most of my time spent writing, consisted of scorching my retina, from the iridescent computer screen. 

Now at the end of the day, I commend myself for making it twenty-four hours.  "One day at a time," is what my friends at gamblers anonymous told me.  I'm going to have a glass of orange juice now, and call my girlfriend.  Much love.