Smoking

Are drugs fucking with my cock?

She actually came fifty times. For real.

Five in a drawer, two smoked, two remaining. I never said math was among my talents.

Smoking is really fucking complicated.

Tamora tells me she’s not ambivalent about me, but something’s going on because she cancels the vast majority of our dates. This one, though, she didn’t cancel. Thankfully.

The shame of buying a pack, and the way my body betrays me by feeling better the moment I decide to do it.

The anatomy of craving a cigarette — mental, bodily, and the tricks my brain plays to get me to succumb.

Apparently, I can’t resist a half-pack of cigarettes left lying around.

V noticed I’ve gone quiet. She’s right. The signs are all there — less writing, less meditating, more porn, worse diet, and worst of all, I’ve been sneaking cigarettes.