Warning: Serious drama queen signals in this post.
Today, I’m mourning my best friend the Gaul girl, my partner in crime, my stress reliever, the one who prevented me from turning into a freak show when stress reached its peak a while ago, my only companion when I moved back to France 2 years ago and barely knew anybody. The natural extension of my right hand whom I decided to part from a month ago.
This afternoon, I missed her so much that I ran to the pharmacy and begged for help. I rushed between the shelves, prevented the old lady – who had patiently been waiting for her turn – from putting her long prescription onto the counter. With panic in my eyes, I said to the Pharmacist: “You must help me!”. I needed say nothing more. She understood my pain at once and screamed to her colleague: “Janine, give le Monsieur 15mg now!”.
I wasn’t sure what she referring to, but the concept of 15 milligrams sounded medical enough to make me feel better.
Quitting smoking is like losing a friend. Only real addictive personalities like me know what I’m talking about. I’m one of those, I get addicted to whatever I find, cigarettes, food, people, blogging and I just can’t stop. Don’t you dare look at me or I might turn into a stalker and write anonymous letters to you. That’s why I never tried drugs or I would’ve probably been 6 feet under by now or calling myself Rita, wearing a veil on my head and sunglasses at a rehab clinic somewhere in the Swiss Alps. (I have this very filmic picture in my head).
Strangely, it was easy at first. But it’s starting to sink in today. As if the one month anniversary was a wake-up call to who my best friend once was. So tonight I’m looking at people smoking at cafés and just can’t wait for this non smoking law to kick in, in January of next year. No more temptations. No more pigging out on Belgian waffles, listening to Joni Mitchell feeling sorry for myself as if something really terrible had happened. Now, instead, I’m addicted to this song. I’ve been listening to it about 30 times in a row and won’t stop listening until I start throwing up on it. That’s how I function. I may have issues, but what the hell, I’m mourning.
My former best friend
My ersatz best friend
Filed under: Smoking Frog | 21 Comments »
frog with a blog
Frog with a Blog 