And curse Sir Walter Raleigh, he was such a stupid git!
It’s Disco Thursday. I have just determined that, as it seems to be the only music my iPod wanted to randomly play this morning, so after the first three songs pre-dated my last boyfriend (he was the heroin addict and was 21 when I dated him in 2000) I decided to go all disco, at least all morning. It’s an executive decision, and I’m sticking with it.
And to answer any questions, yes, I have enough disco on my iPod to play nothing but disco songs all morning. And probably even longer. Don't ask. I am still a gay man, disco is our music.
I ran yesterday, but not too well. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on running. I don’t know if it was because of the movie I was watching, “Dirty Harry,” which is a good movie, but it isn’t what we would call an action film by today’s standard. So there is a lot of talking and not as much killing.
I don’t know if I was distracted by thinking of what I wanted for dinner as I was hungrier than usual when I got home from work. I was thinking of the onion, cheese and veggie steak strip omelet I was going to have with waffles. And thinking about it. And thinking of it.
I don’t know if I was thinking about the fact that I had gotten down to 218 lbs. and starting thinking of ways to reward myself, like not running. I do usually skip running on Thursdays (or Fridays if I already ran on the preceding Thursday) but it was Wednesday, and I was bored, so I was thinking of that the whole time. I promised myself if I got off the treadmill at 12 minutes that I’d run Thursday, Friday & Saturday the full 30 minutes. I slowed down twice for a quick rest before I completed 30 minutes. Only 2.6 miles completed, and not the best feeling.
Or, and here comes the quick confession buried in a post, could it be the immediate effects of smoking? Now, those who know me know that I quit smoking 11 years ago. However, recently, I’ve had a flea problem in my house (thanks to Jeb & Bert, my wonderful kittens, and Prissy, a visiting cat) and after two bug bombings and one house spray down by the bug spray, I found another live, adult flea on my leg last Monday. Well, when looking for help on the internet, someone made the comment that cigarette smoke worked as a deterrent for fleas.
My friend Chris had left a partially filled pack of cigarettes on the porch last time he was over, so I almost immediately went over and smoked one, blowing the smoke onto myself in an attempt to make any fleas that wanted to bite me sick with the nicotine. Just to make sure, I smoked 2 cigarettes. I couldn’t inhale them, as that hurt like hell and made me start coughing, but I sat on my porch smoking them.
Then I did it again on Tuesday. You know, just in case. I didn’t want those little monsters chomping on my legs & feet anymore. I’d spent a lot of money, had the house treated 3 fucking times and the cats treated and re-treated, and I didn’t want to be bitten anymore.
Then on Friday, whilst out with the softball team for Happy Hour, I had already eaten so much bad, greasy food that when one teammate lit up, I thought, “Why not?” And that is when I was first able to inhale (I assume that spending the previous 3 ½ hours in a bar helped my lungs get used to the idea of nicotine, so it didn’t hurt when it went down.) And so I had a second one.
When I got home Friday night, I felt nauseous. My head was spinning (I’d had two beers all night long as I was driving myself home, so I am always careful.) All I could smell was cigarettes, and it made me want to retch. There was a slight moment where I thought that the greasy food and cigarette combination was going to make me hurl, but I didn’t in the long run.
Even on Saturday, I was coughing up some darker colored stuff that I knew was from smoking. I have allergies as it is, and my years of smoking have messed up my lungs enough. When I quit smoking in 1995, I spent two years coughing up dark yellow phlegm that was disgusting. I didn’t like that thought again.
So on Monday, when I found ANOTHER flea, I flew into another rage. I don’t know what else I can do to control these little fuckers…so I went and smoked two more cigarettes. And on Tuesday night I smoked the final two cigarettes that were left in the pack, this time inhaling all the nicotine in the damn thing. And don’t you know that on the drive to work on Wednesday morning, I had a strange urge, one I hadn’t had in years. I wanted a smoke. During the day at work, I thought about that time at the end of the day when I’d sit on the porch and suck down the nicotine. The sick, disgusting, putrid nicotine.
And then, while running, my lungs didn’t feel so good, or I thought they didn’t. Some phlegm, but nothing too bad, but after running for about 12 minutes and being bored, I starting thinking that maybe it was the smoking. After 19 minutes, I took another break, just walking briskly. And I knew for a fact that it had to be the smoking. I told myself that I was in too much pain and having too much difficulty breathing, so I should stop after 24 minutes. Then I kept running and realized I need to finish the 30 minutes, even if it wasn’t near 3 miles.
And then, when I went on the porch last night, the cigarette pack was empty. And I wanted one. If I weren’t so lazy, I would have been in that car driving down to the tobacconist for a pack. And if I wasn’t so cheap (or frugal), I might have actually done just that, but the whole effort of getting dressed (I was in running shorts and tank top on the porch) and driving down the road just to slap down $5 for more of those cancerous sticks of doom didn’t appeal to me. So I sat on the porch drinking a Heineken Light, wishing that I had a cigarette to go with it.
Oh, fuck me!
(p.s., just as a note, this morning I was at 217 lbs. I can’t believe that I actually got down to 217. I haven’t hit that since January 1998, when I was down to 207 following my first foray into Atkins from August 1997 and an infection from impacted wisdom teeth. So now I want to keep running and eating so that I can burn more fat…and smoking can’t be part of that, right?)
And to answer any questions, yes, I have enough disco on my iPod to play nothing but disco songs all morning. And probably even longer. Don't ask. I am still a gay man, disco is our music.
I ran yesterday, but not too well. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on running. I don’t know if it was because of the movie I was watching, “Dirty Harry,” which is a good movie, but it isn’t what we would call an action film by today’s standard. So there is a lot of talking and not as much killing.
I don’t know if I was distracted by thinking of what I wanted for dinner as I was hungrier than usual when I got home from work. I was thinking of the onion, cheese and veggie steak strip omelet I was going to have with waffles. And thinking about it. And thinking of it.
I don’t know if I was thinking about the fact that I had gotten down to 218 lbs. and starting thinking of ways to reward myself, like not running. I do usually skip running on Thursdays (or Fridays if I already ran on the preceding Thursday) but it was Wednesday, and I was bored, so I was thinking of that the whole time. I promised myself if I got off the treadmill at 12 minutes that I’d run Thursday, Friday & Saturday the full 30 minutes. I slowed down twice for a quick rest before I completed 30 minutes. Only 2.6 miles completed, and not the best feeling.
Or, and here comes the quick confession buried in a post, could it be the immediate effects of smoking? Now, those who know me know that I quit smoking 11 years ago. However, recently, I’ve had a flea problem in my house (thanks to Jeb & Bert, my wonderful kittens, and Prissy, a visiting cat) and after two bug bombings and one house spray down by the bug spray, I found another live, adult flea on my leg last Monday. Well, when looking for help on the internet, someone made the comment that cigarette smoke worked as a deterrent for fleas.
My friend Chris had left a partially filled pack of cigarettes on the porch last time he was over, so I almost immediately went over and smoked one, blowing the smoke onto myself in an attempt to make any fleas that wanted to bite me sick with the nicotine. Just to make sure, I smoked 2 cigarettes. I couldn’t inhale them, as that hurt like hell and made me start coughing, but I sat on my porch smoking them.
Then I did it again on Tuesday. You know, just in case. I didn’t want those little monsters chomping on my legs & feet anymore. I’d spent a lot of money, had the house treated 3 fucking times and the cats treated and re-treated, and I didn’t want to be bitten anymore.
Then on Friday, whilst out with the softball team for Happy Hour, I had already eaten so much bad, greasy food that when one teammate lit up, I thought, “Why not?” And that is when I was first able to inhale (I assume that spending the previous 3 ½ hours in a bar helped my lungs get used to the idea of nicotine, so it didn’t hurt when it went down.) And so I had a second one.
When I got home Friday night, I felt nauseous. My head was spinning (I’d had two beers all night long as I was driving myself home, so I am always careful.) All I could smell was cigarettes, and it made me want to retch. There was a slight moment where I thought that the greasy food and cigarette combination was going to make me hurl, but I didn’t in the long run.
Even on Saturday, I was coughing up some darker colored stuff that I knew was from smoking. I have allergies as it is, and my years of smoking have messed up my lungs enough. When I quit smoking in 1995, I spent two years coughing up dark yellow phlegm that was disgusting. I didn’t like that thought again.
So on Monday, when I found ANOTHER flea, I flew into another rage. I don’t know what else I can do to control these little fuckers…so I went and smoked two more cigarettes. And on Tuesday night I smoked the final two cigarettes that were left in the pack, this time inhaling all the nicotine in the damn thing. And don’t you know that on the drive to work on Wednesday morning, I had a strange urge, one I hadn’t had in years. I wanted a smoke. During the day at work, I thought about that time at the end of the day when I’d sit on the porch and suck down the nicotine. The sick, disgusting, putrid nicotine.
And then, while running, my lungs didn’t feel so good, or I thought they didn’t. Some phlegm, but nothing too bad, but after running for about 12 minutes and being bored, I starting thinking that maybe it was the smoking. After 19 minutes, I took another break, just walking briskly. And I knew for a fact that it had to be the smoking. I told myself that I was in too much pain and having too much difficulty breathing, so I should stop after 24 minutes. Then I kept running and realized I need to finish the 30 minutes, even if it wasn’t near 3 miles.
And then, when I went on the porch last night, the cigarette pack was empty. And I wanted one. If I weren’t so lazy, I would have been in that car driving down to the tobacconist for a pack. And if I wasn’t so cheap (or frugal), I might have actually done just that, but the whole effort of getting dressed (I was in running shorts and tank top on the porch) and driving down the road just to slap down $5 for more of those cancerous sticks of doom didn’t appeal to me. So I sat on the porch drinking a Heineken Light, wishing that I had a cigarette to go with it.
Oh, fuck me!
(p.s., just as a note, this morning I was at 217 lbs. I can’t believe that I actually got down to 217. I haven’t hit that since January 1998, when I was down to 207 following my first foray into Atkins from August 1997 and an infection from impacted wisdom teeth. So now I want to keep running and eating so that I can burn more fat…and smoking can’t be part of that, right?)
posted by Mike at 7:53 AM
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