the year i became a smoker

i was unpacking my stuff today. i moved all my stuff, everything i own, to philadelphia two weeks ago. i called up my exboyfriend of three days and said, i have to move, today, to philly. can you come and get me and my stuff? and, after a thoughtful coffeetimebreak, he called me and said, "i'm on my way." and then, a week later i said, i have to go back to new york and we spent three days trying to move my stuff, sadly, back to my brooklyn apartment. we just couldn't do it, i guess. we had the van packed on the very first day. i've been very reluctant to unpack because it means this stuff is here to stay, at least for the next week.

well, when unpacking some of the boxes, i found an old journal. real old! from when i was sixteen! i didn't like the stuff i was reading. i refused to acknowledge it as something written by me, at any point in my life so i threw it out. dumped that shit. then, i realized that it would end up in someone's hands like all the journals and notes and diary entries that i've poured over and possessed after finding them in otherpeoples trash. so, i decided to burn it. i tried to burn it in my sink but it was taking awhile. lots of relighting and waiting and relighting. so, i lit it up really good and just let it go. like, left it in the sink and went and got dressed, checked my email, danced around to some blondie. when i checked back, the kitchen had filled with really toxic smoke, and the bathroom, too. i put it out but it was barely burnt. everything was still readable and the air in my house was burning my eyes out. so, i soaked it, to put it out and then threw it out. now, its soggy but still very readable. fuck. it took forever to get the apartment aired out. i was out all day and upon returning could still smell some of my sixteen year old memories hanging about, heady.

i also quit smoking. i started smoking in paris so i wouldn't look conspicuous walking along the river alone at night. no one bothers a smoker. well, i switched to rollies (from faggy vogues, which were cute in rome and sometimes in prague but maybe nowhere else?) because i thought that the labor intensiveness of them would make me smoke less. i ended up liking rolling, crafting my own little cigarettes. now i'm fucked. can you curse on a blog? can you speak about a curse on a blog? allison did. i think that the internet is no place for spells or magic. not the kind we know about. not old magic.

i'm quitting tomorrow. for life.


also, today, at the thrift store, a guy was sitting in an office chair, watching the nutty professor on a tv that was for sale, lifting weights that were also for sale. maybe the chair was his own.

xo