Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts

Friday, January 15, 2016

On Smoking, and Sublimation.






























Louis Shalako





When I got up this morning, I had two smokes left.

Normally, I wouldn’t leave the house until around ten o’clock.

I’ve developed quite the routine. To go to Seven-Eleven, get a cup of coffee. To drive down to the rez, and pick up anywhere from one pack to a carton of smokes…to take back a few empties to the beer store and pick up a few more beers. I go to the grocery store for one litre of milk when it really is cheaper to buy the bag of three litres. It’s a matter of killing time.

It’s a make-work project. It gives me something to do.

Let’s face it. I live alone. I’m not married, I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend. I don’t have kids or grandkids. I don’t have a job.

I don’t have any hobby outside of writing, although at one time I did.

Smoking is accessible—anyone can afford to smoke. You can buy a pack of shitty smokes for two bucks. You can get a can of beer for two bucks. It does bring a kind of relief—for what it’s worth and for how long it lasts.

A lot of the time we don’t even get any enjoyment out of it. It's a kind of sublimation of some other personal desires, at least that's my theory.

It's possible to look back to a time before I smoked. I was happy enough in not smoking...

What in the hell happened...???

How many times have I squinted through the smoke, choking and gagging a bit, as I tried to put in my password to get in to the email account?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Today, I skipped the shower, got dressed and rushed off to get them damned smokes.

So far today, since 7:30 a.m., I’ve had thirteen cigarettes. It’s about 4:30 p.m. and this is actually pretty good for me.

Normally I would have been onto that second pack by now.

It is true that I have spent many happy hours, in front of the computer, with a pack of smokes, a cold beer and working away on yet another story.

Part of it, I think is boredom—sheer, unmitigated boredom. It’s like I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

At one time, this might have seemed like the perfect life.

I also think that quitting—especially smoking, cold-turkey, would be a little too traumatic.

The time to quit is while I still have money!

That might be a good motivator.

It’s a question of how long I can keep it up.

There is the question of what I might replace it with…

Some question of where do I go from here, I guess.

But almost anything would be better than what I’m doing right now.


END