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Saturday, November 13, 2004

I can remember being in college, sitting at the computer in the yearbook office that I used for all of my writing and work. We had the vodka bottle behind us on the table, occassionally with mixers, but sometimes without. I would tyoe for hours with my glass to my right and my cigarette -- always a Camel, special lights if I could find them -- in my left hand. Because I needed my right hand for jotting notes (or, more often, drinking from my vodka glass), I never really mastered the right-handed ash-flick. But left-handed, I could flick into the mouth of the Mountain Dew can that we used as an ashtray without even looking. But when I typed fast, I couldn't maintain the cigarette between those two fingers. That's when it found its home perched between my lips, as I carefully inhaled and exhaled to prevent the smoke from blowing into my eyes.

The cigarettes were my salvation that year. I was being stalked by the guy on the bottom floor of my building, so it was never safe to go back to my room until daybreak. I would sit up all night, surviving on caffeine, nicotine and alcohol, waiting for the moment that I could go back to my room and sleep for an hour before my 8am classes. I was so tired, so empty, that at one point I hallucinated a rat in my dorm room. The worst part was that I knew it wasn't real, but I was powerless against the vision. I sat huddled against the wall, wondering what was worse: my fear of the stalker or my fear of the maybe-rat. I lit a Camel with the zippo I swiped from a guy at a party, and my fingers shook so violently that I was sure I was going to drop it and set my bed on fire. I counted the days until the semester would end. When I finally made it out, I didn't know if I could come back for my last semester in the fall. I felt so hollow, so utterly devoid of hope. Yet I never cried. I couldn't cry. I just retreated and hoped that one day I would be able to find myself again.

To this day, the taste of a Camel brings back memories. I feel like the same person I was at 20. I shouldn't smoke just to spare myself that feeling.

Friday, November 12, 2004

I'm used to C being away. I miss him, but it's generally not a big deal. But this time, I'm hating it. Japan is too far away, he's not cell phone accessible, and I barely have a chance to talk to him. I miss him. I fall asleep at night with a group of pillows at my back to simulate his presence; it doesn't feel remotely the same, so I don't know why I do it. I miss talking to him before falling asleep. I miss his arm around me after the alarm brings him into semi-consciousness. This is the peril of having lover, husband and friend all in one. You lose one, you lose them all.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Casablanca. I really don't understand why the young, lovely, radiant Ingrid Bergman would have any interest in the grizzled old Humphrey Bogart.

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