he's probably asleep and it's off and i'm alone
i don't know if i should smoke weed to deal with him not being here or save it for when he is
i feel like i should try to go back to sleep again but i want to talk to him
i don't want to be alone fuck
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It's interesting. Finishing a pack is both alarming and calming. I have that worry of someone who is addicted where I'll find the money for more if I don't have it, or how I'll manage to get somewhere that the prices are reasonable without my mother there, which is a whole other rambly mess about how I'm nineteen and still sneak smokes when everyone is in bed or out of the house.
I worry about what will happen if I have a panic attack or get anxiety over something small that I need to finish and what I'll do if I can't take a smoke break.
I worry about whether or not I'll be out long enough for the nic fits to settle in, or long enough for them to calm down.
I worry because my life has this funny way of making me feel worse at exactly the wrong times and stupid little things that have almost nothing to do with cigarettes at all.
But I like the absolution of finishing something, even if I didn't smoke them all myself. Especially if I didn't smoke them all myself. If I gave a couple to friends or to homeless people or someone who stopped on the street and asked apologetically and maybe offered quarters or had my last two with my underage cousin under my porch at three in the morning while we have a really intimate conversation that make me wonder and worry about him until the next time we get to talk which could be years from then.
I like making plans about when I'll get more and wondering if there's enough money in my wallet or bank account or if I'll do something totally disingenuous and flirt one out of a guy sitting around Temple campus.
I like thinking to myself, "Maybe I'll just quit now and not buy anymore," and laughing at myself because I know it's a complete lie.
But none of these thoughts really last long. If I'm not craving one, I don't actually sit around thinking about cigarettes. I did just finish a pack, though, while I paced barefoot around on my wet porch from the rain earlier and the sky where only one star was visible because of the lingering storm clouds. I was so paranoid about getting caught, even though I know my Mom is in her room watching TV and probably won't leave and my brother is playing Call of Duty and isn't likely to move for the next three hours.
As I wandered across the wet wood, I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the window. I stopped to vainly stare at myself and my messy hair and my mismatched outfit: my dark grey shorts with silly pockets and buckles that have been deemed my "adventure girl shorts" and my purple To Write Love On Her Arms shirt that doesn't fit me quite as tightly as it used to and my oversized blue flannel that I've barely taken off since Katsucon. I looked like a mess. And I smoked as I giggled at myself and realized I'd never seen myself smoke before and stared at myself as I sucked from the cigarette and exhaled the smoke. I've seen stills photographs of myself with cigarettes, but never watched myself do it as it was happening. It was fascinating in a very narcissistic way. I'm not really sure how to explain it.
I contemplated how I'd never seen my face in person and I never will and tried to ghost and French inhale unsuccessfully and considered walking the four miles to get a pack of cheap cigarettes without anyone around and then walking home again sometime this weekend and how I wanted to post about this somewhere and how it was too stupid to put on my Tumblr where people will actually see it and various other things of no consequence.
I don't really know what the point of all this is. It's just a lot of things that were stuck in my head, I guess.
Maybe I'll use this for posts that are too stupid to go on my Tumblr.