Here I sit broken hearted, came to write, but I just can't get started.
Give it another try darling hubby says................
I wrote
.......The Troll emerged from his cave rambling about nonsensical nothings splashed with a dash of crazy. I could do nor more than return to sipping my tea and continue enjoying an imaginary cigarette......
Over my shoulder he read, than ended it with "look you've got it. You can do it" as rolled his chair back to his side of the office. With his back turned, I snarled at him, I wanted to throw something really, really heavy at his direction. If I knew I wouldn't miss, I would have given it a shot. Luckily for my darling hubby, I am the worst pitcher I know. At this moment I really don't like him either, because he his more right now about anything than he has ever been.
Giving up smoking was essential, if I wanted to continue living that is. A heart attack will do the trick; change the ignorant assumption that 'it won't happen to me!' trick that is.
With perfect blood pressure, perfect cholesterol levels and the fact I haven't had a flu since 2004, I wont mention the almost daily crucifying headaches, because they don't count, I was in perfect health. I could continue to smoke 40+ smokes a day and run like the wind till I was at least 92. That's how I figured it to be. I was wrong, but I was lucky.
It has been 4 weeks, 3 days, 12 hours and something minutes, since my last cigarette, though I have smoked at least a multitude of imaginary ones since then. I am also so sick of Wrigley's Extra chewing gum....blah!. By the way, has anyone lost 10 kilo's in weight recently, if you have, great! I have found it for you, and could you please pick it up ASAP, its a real drag carrying it around.
I need cigarettes to unlock the words that ramble in dangerous, out of control directions in my head, hence the 4 blogs, 6 unfinished (but could be finished literary works of sheer genius) novels and the 3 people, whom I dodge their phone calls, because I haven't been able to finish the articles that they've wanted since before Christmas.
If I could just smoke while I'm writing, I wont smoke any other time, I promise.
Maurie, my darling hubby, hit me with the reality checked awful truth. It stung, it hurt, it was cruel.
He looked sternly at me and pounded directly at me "If you stopped writing today, you won't shatter peoples lives, they won't be devastated, you wont ruin peoples lives, they'll move on to the next 10,000 writers out there and they will continue to live. If YOU died, then you would shatter our lives, there we would be devastated, those who love you the most will be forced to continue with their lives with a hole in their heart that possibly may never close!"
Hmm, he had a point that I couldn't argue against. Sniff, sniff for the insignificant writer. Maurie was right, but he didn't need to be that right, even though he too has given up smoking as well.
As a parent we obligate ourselves to give up our vices for the sake of our children. Simply, we love our children so much that we want be better people for them, to be there for them, always.
I gave up smoking when I was 21, the very moment I found out I was expecting my first child. I had smoked since I was 13 and had tried on so many occasions to do the impossible, give up smoking. A positive pregnancy test was an instant solution.
At 13, I was whisked away from my parents to attend an exclusive boarding school for gifted children. Hailed as a junior prodigy, the masterpiece that had everyone buzzing with excitement was written at 2am one morning, in the covert darkness of my parents garage while puffing away on cigarettes I had stolen from them.
Needless to say, the school waited with abated breath for me to produce another masterpiece for the schools impressive portfolio that never came. With no access to cigarettes, the creative was drought stricken. Had they known that was all that was needed to unlock the words, they would have eagerly snuck in the contraband, as they did for other students, but I didn't realise the connection myself.
With the coming of my first child and the many that followed, I was too busy being a parent to consider ever smoking again. Always ignoring the sporadic 2am wake up of words streaming through my mind like a Japanese bullet train; for they were usually gone before I could collate them to paper anyway.
Just after the death of my father, on New Years day, some years ago, I was left with a handful of half empty packets of smokes. My house, the venue for that years party, and as per usual there were the few standard, cliched NY resolutions. Alone later in the day, I was left with temptation that hadn't tested me in more than 17 years.
It began a tight, strongly fuelled marriage of smokes & words.
Within the year I had 2 novellas published, written a synopsis for a business that had won them so many awards that I still have people lining up to utilise my wordsmith qualities.
A few terrifying painful minutes alone in a very public place, was the demise of that marriage. Outside the ladies toilet, my son was waiting, wondering, 'Gee, Mum's taking a long time' while he was puffing away on his own cigarette. My son no longer smokes.
I did it though, I said goodbye to 40+ smokes a day, a truckload of rampant obnoxious words and my daily companion; the headaches from hell, in an instant.
I have done it because I love my children more than I love myself. Smoking might make me a better writer but it doesn't make me a better parent. I will always be a parent first.
In advance I offer my apologies for all future mundane, routine, smoke free blogs.
No comments:
Post a Comment