I just set a personal, “best” by smoking an entire
pack of cigarettes in about seven hours. Not that this is anything to be proud
of, and not that I was particularly stressed out (in fact quite the opposite),
but you see I’m broke. Even if I had money, part of me cringes with the new
Massachusetts tobacco tax, which brings the total for a pack of smokes to just
under ten dollars. “Crack prices!” as Chappelle said.
I’ve also been waking up with chest pain lately.
There is a tightness and discomfort in my chest, and at times it feels like
there is a small anvil resting on my sternum. These symptoms subside after an
hour or so, but it’s something to mention to the doc when I have my annual
physical in the coming weeks. At 31, I feel like I should be taking better care of
myself. You know, exercising, eating healthily, putting the smokes down
etcetera. Instead I’ve started downing two liter bottles of soda like they’re
water again, eating whole large pizzas in a single sitting, and smoking like a
chimney. I also have started (well a while back) relying on coffee at work to
get me shifts. I still drink, but it's gone from a nightly, seemingly necessary thing, to the occasional beer or two here and there (though I was feenin' for a forty today).
On a positive note, I’ve only bought one bag of weed
in the past six weeks or so. This marks a grand departure during the winter,
when I thought I had added Mary Jane to the list of vices (Alcohol being the
third).
My energy levels are still as unpredictable as ever.
Some days I can’t get enough sleep and hardly feel rested, even after a full night’s
sleep preceding a day full of intermittent napping.
All of the above makes me think that at this rate my
days will be coming to an end sooner than they should be. Whether the curtain
falls on this play prematurely or not, I hope it doesn’t anytime soon. I feel
good these days, and I ain’t ready to check out yet.
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