It’s been a long time. I’ve discovered such unique, eclectic sounds to attach myself to. Like taste buds changing, I thought my ears would never want to be battered again by the wall of sound. The screaming. Vile, poisonous words shredding my vocal cords. Through the eyes of who I am now, I don’t know why I was so attached. I had almost every single album. Baby’s momma took them and the iPod they were backed up on. I scraped the bumper sticker off my truck before I sold it and thought that was the last of it. I thought I finally grew out of it.
It was late on a Saturday night and still dismally quiet for driving. Closer played on the radio, and though I still believe it was his worst and most overplayed song, I found my lips forming the words. That was it. I had to listen to more. I just had to.
I didn’t have anywhere to go to listen. I don’t know anyone at all that could put up with more than a minute. So, I found an empty parking lot and proceeded to thrash my eardrums via thrashing the speakers. I listened to half of The Fragile and a few select tracks from Further Down the Spiral. Finally, the cops came to inform me that I was not allowed to occupy public space at that hour of the morning.
Joe Camel, his smug snout sticking out proudly as he happily takes both your money and health in exchange for… I still don’t know. I have been craving it. Why? I worked so hard to quit so many times. When I finally did, I did so knowing it was over. I still distinctly remember putting the last one out, so happy and fulfilled that my mind had finally reached the conclusion that cigarettes are gross.
I scolded myself even as I wrapped my fingers around the pack to smack it into the palm of my hand. By time I was pulling the gold foil out, I just didn’t care. I just took a turn a wee bit too tight onto possibly the narrowest and busiest street in Portland, scraping the side and ending in a crinkle where there ought to be a smart, crisp contour. I’m supposed to be showing my car off on Wednesday as part of the launching of Uber EV. Now, I look like a schmuck that doesn’t take care of his things. Despite a service I could barely afford and a new set of shoes after the potholes claimed the right front tire, I am apparently not done paying out for repairs. I just didn’t care about my well being.
I know I’m not doing myself any favors. I know I can’t bring myself to care. I know that of any vice, this is the one that Kim will be least accepting of. What I don’t know is what to do from here. What can I do? I guess I’ll go have a cigarette and maybe when I’m done I will at least not feel so miserable.