Cigareeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeette.X0 I need for a lungful inhalation of Malboro Lights cigarette that shall tear my ribs apart. Mind, I don't need a cigarette; I crave, yearn, lust, covet for even just a whiff, a sniff of cigarette smoke to filter into my thickly-phlegmed lungs, permeate into my neural pathways generating floods of dopamine up the reward department of my brain. Gaaaaaaaaaaaah cigarettes! Why have I left you in a sealable plastic bag, you ask, when I could've just disposed you in the trash bin overflowing with ashes and malodorous squashed cigarette butts?? Oh, the world will never understand this appetence, this intimacy, between you and me, that though you are only four inches long and half an inch thick, barely capable of consummating the depths of a woman's repressed passions, you have ruptured me addicted to you with every suck and blow, and every time I feel the need, you are there. Thus when I have given this much deliberation, I cannot help but wonder how this relationship between you and me is going to affect the overall conception of my being for you have long been a filler of a large resonating empty part of me, the pacifier to my vengeful, wrathful--and all them seven deadly sins in adjectival form--emotional outbursts that now I cannot imagine letting you go. Why, locking you in a clear plastic bag just goes to say that I haven't really completely given up on you.

Wait. I'm not getting to dramatic here, am I??XD Cut the bull, but I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant my cigarettes! What a pain it is to CRAAAAAAAAVE.X0 This ghost of a nicotine hidden in the guise of a cigarette has taken me captive from the decision making faculties of my own brain! I am thy slave, but I still have this mote of omnipotence residing over me, to subdue this craving, this otherwise termed withdrawal, for my neurochemicals have crystallized themselves to include this nicotine-regenerative receptor and it is never easy a task to simply chuck it out my system and claim myself nicotine-free. How long this shall last, I do not know. A simple tap of the keys in Google could give me answers, BUT! The answers hurt. They stab my soul in eternal fountains of blood for I know that it will not be easy. Nine years, since I was in the coming age of puberty, 13, that I had inhaled the very first lungful of smokes that drove me into fits of coughs, convulsions, and paranoia; but after that, my brain bemoaned with a passion, pleased, invigorated, contented.

Waaaaaaaaaaaah.X0 Just imagine, this remaining pack of delicious cigarettes--just a stretch of an arm away from me. It's not just sitting there impertubable, locked up, preserved; it is hauntingly, screamingly, tauntingly, seductively sitting there like a giant cock of steel hooting at the sexually deprived erotomaniac that is I.XD Waaaaah. I are stumped.XP

Self-discipline! I am a stringent follower of my own set of rules! Bleargh. Technically, forcing myself to NOT think of smoking cigarettes indubitably allows me to think of smoking cigarettes. What an epiphany! Why, I should've thought of this before!XD It's what you call, err, wossat, IGNORANCE: persistence of the absence of thought makes the memory forget, though the absence itself makes oneself long for that missing filler.XP What the fuck ever. Forget forget forget.XP

But I want to SMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKE.X0 Argh.X0

Employing the reconnaissance against cigarettes (Persona 1: Would you stop talking about cigarettes already! Persona 2: One last paragraph...!), considering cigarettes have a mind of their own: Step one! Think like a cigarette! And how would I think like a cigarette?? Although this isn't the first thought that propelled this reconnoitering (I have forgotten the very first insight, drats! Wait, think, you idiot!) ... FUCK. My streams of consciousness have swiveled to the direction of a pitchfork.XP Reminds me of multidimensionality.XP Anyway. To forget smoking, one ought to forget the thought of smoking. And to forget thinking of smoking, one must think of everything other than smoking, a deviation of the cerebral processing to put, the main aim, to adjust into a smoke-free lifestyle. And for a smoke-free lifestyle to exist, even to be successful, I would have to subscribe myself into a healthy diet--no cigarettes, coffee, alcohol, and such poisonous substances, to be replaced by greens, fruits, and, err, juices. Right. How exciting.XP Greens, that, comprising of veggies and grass and bushes, the whole verdant fields of the rural idyll... I shall have to be a vegetarian! The word vegetarian is just another euphemism for vegetable-devouring herbivores. Why, you can just call horses and cows and goats vegetarians as much as humans are.XP Whatever fripperies there are, I still am awfully cognizant of the screaming nicotine-deprived voice at the back of my head.

Hence, the healthy lifestyle.XP IC and I have finally begun the vegetarian diet. IC, my housemate, (Urrrk, much as I want to hail derogatory descriptions of my rents, I can't.XP Because they know my blog.XP Ukk. Horse, horse, horse; we are lost horses running amok a grassland.) so IC my housemate is currently ill and asleep with her eyes and mouth half-open giving the impression that she's neither asleep nor awake until you hear the sound of the snores vibrating from her esophagus. She has a voicebox of a battalion commander, and a simple whisper can reach an unsuspecting ear five miles away.

That's me, She-Hagrid at the left with my unmanageable hair and insipidly characterless PEACE pose; IC on the right, thin and malnourished as an excavated skeleton from Africa, ramp model wannabe, but a friend nonetheless. (Note the juxtaposition of opposing labels.XP) Apparently I am fond of shadows.XP Shadows have more meaning than the objects that cast them. To expound, I have no idea what I'm saying.XP Just refer to Aristotle's Allegory of the Cave. But what the hey, the exposition have finally reached my head articulate: (drat, it slipped again! My thoughts are very evanescent these days.) It's like READING literature. What you envision are but mere shadows of the words strung together to form a cohesive interpretation of the author's initial spasms of intellectual fabrication. They're but a lump of residue, shadows of a larger whole that are left for the mind to recreate from the given hints and literary devices. Succinctly, they are the reason to stimulate one's dormant imagination.

I want to SHMOOOWWWWKuh!X0

And by the way. I have this cystic bacteria-filled pimple which has occupied the land mass at the hilly side of my face, the right side of my nose bridge. Oooogg.X0 When I washed my face a while ago it just ripped open itself and discharged a flyblown Suez Canal of mortifyingly execrable pus. Uuuuuukkkkkkkk.X0

...

Moments later...

Waaah! I gave in! What a cretinous underdog! I smoked one full stick of Marlboro Lights!XD The first eight seconds was a bliss--yes, I counted!

FINALLY I can die and go to sleeeeeep.XD Wait, that's go to sleep and finally die sleeping.XD Don't make sense donnit.

Word did you say?

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