75 hours, 25 minutes ... and the clock ticks. That is how long since I last smoked a stick of cigarette. I was at the store this morning and at the counter, I stared at the pack of smokes ... contemplating. The guys at the counter would not sell me some. I told them two days ago that I just quit smoking. Aimlessly wandered in the store, I didn't have money with me so that even if I wanted to get some cigarettes, there's no way I can get some. Well, I brought money with me today ... I bought gum.
Cigars. I thought about cigars. I've seen people smoking them and pipes too. I always hated the smell. Maybe if I lit a cigar, it would make me really stop craving for smokes. So everytime I get the urge, I'd lit up the cigar which should just kill the desire to have a smoke instantly. And to make a point, I suppose ... I can always light up the cigar everytime my mother starts up.
She is giving me the silent treatment right now. Don't you just hate that?
Mothers and wives, they're good. They're also the greatest in making you feel guilty or feel like shit.
I don't suppose it finally dawned on her, it's either somebody talked to her and tried to make some sense or she is just plain hurt. Hurt because I said out loud, jokingly of course, that she stresses me out and that I have to stay away so I don't reach out for a cigarette stick.
She is trying her best to be quiet ... cooking ... watching tv ... cooking ... ironing ... cooking ... I asked if she wanted to go to the mall or store ... she said no and did not even want to look at me, all curled up on the couch ... I wonder how long she can last. I asked her why she had eyebrows on and foundation on her face ... she didn't even bother to answer. Hmmm ... she was hurt by my remark.
This hurts me even more.
It's just about NOW ... I need that pack of cigarette for a rainy day.