Monday, September 15, 2008

A 3-cigarette wedding

I was happy for Ruth, of course, but reminded once again of my single status. Most emphatically during the mixed dancing, or should I say couples dancing. Because I obviously have no dance partner. I wasn't the only disgruntled guest; Ruth's friend Shira also bemoaned her lack of a man to dance with. (As far as I know she wants a man. I could be wrong.)

So a few times I snuck out with guests brandishing cancer sticks and lighters, mooched a butt, and lit up. I think smoking relaxes me because it involves deep, regular breathing; I doubt I'm inhaling enough smoke to get a real nicotine hit. I think I also like it because it's a kind of "fuck you" to my wretched existence. I'm not satisfied with my life; let's knock off a few years. Puff puff.

However, one of my fellow smoke-sneakers smells terrible. I noticed it before the chuppah, when she leaned in to ask me a detail about the ceremony. I don't know if it was her hair, her skin, or her breath, but she reeked. So I don't think I'll become a regular smoker, if only for that reason. Just the occasional "fuck you, universe" cigarette bummed off another essential nihilist.

We didn't get back to the city until after 11 p.m., and I didn't take my medication because I was afraid of being a zombie all day today -- it's too sedating if I take it too late at night. I thought I'd be in a terrible mood today, from the lack of meds and sleep, but I'm actually quite cheerful. Maybe I should skip my lithium more often.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

1 comment:

  1. Ayelet
    Lung cancer is a pretty nasty side effect of saying 'f-you'' to the universe. Don't want to see you die a slow, nasty painful death. Sorry to be so blunt but the father of one of my closest friends died of lung cancer after smoking to ''get the edge off''. I woun't wish his suffering on my worst enemy.
    And yes, your breath will smell truly awful if you smoke--as will your clothes.

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