Right now is when I will change that and start to write once again.
And, the topic of this post is something that happened back in March.
My life hasn't been exciting of late. No clubs, or bars. Barely going out, some shopping, not really drinking, mostly struggling to get through a job that I am exceptionally unsatisfied with. And I feel like we all know that when I say "exceptionally unsatisfied", that we are all aware that I am being kind.
March in LA, well, at least this March, was not unlike it is right now in LA. Warm days, cool nights. Now we have cool days and cold nights. Aren't we so privileged???
Right now I am racking my brain trying to remember what happened in March. I can't think of anything big that happened that month. A few birthdays, hanging out with ma boo only once. (It's her final semester, and I want it to be that.) Anything else???
There was a show at the Echoplex. BTW, that place just seems so dangerous. Like no fire exits? Maybe there were some, but I didn't see them??? (The question marks are for you to know that I doubt myself as well sometimes.) Either way, it felt to me like it would've been amazing to go for a show there as a teen, but as an adult, I'm kinda over that. Oh, yeah. At the show, dudefriend (have I mentioned that's happening?) and I witnessed some aging, balding hipster trying to reclaim his youth by dancing like a moron. Let's all be sad for a moment.
I don't know about you, but I hope to never become that guy.
So, yes, March was... well, it happened.
Sometime during the March I can't remember, I got sick. I wasn't like that period from October to February when I got a cold and it was like whatever. No, this was worst. It just felt so much worse. My voice got weird. Breathing became hard, and my main focus for a few weeks. Yes, there was kissing, but I couldn't breathe through my nose, so I would break it off to catch a breath. Breathing, and not suffocating, became my priority that time. I honestly don't even remember how I got sick. I don't know if it was the change in weather from daytime to nighttime, or if it was the fact that I would drive home in the dark hours of the morning. Or maybe it was work. There were a few people sick at work. One of my coworkers had a very bad cold, she was sick for weeks.
Now, I don't want to be a bitch and say it was her, but I may have caught something from her, which, fueled by my shitty lifestyle, led me to having that un-fucking-believably bad cold.
I can, with confidence, say that it was a bad cold, and that breathing was my priority. Smoking held no appeal. The taste of phlegm was awful, but smoking would require that I not breathe. Clearly, it was off the table.
I feel like here is where I should talk about my smoking. What to say? I started smoking in June or July of 2010, and for a while, I felt nauseated as fuck when I did smoke. I didn't cough up like people do on TV or movies, I just felt nauseated. I did get over it, and I never threw up. After a some time, being nauseated while smoking stopped, too, can't remember when though. And I mostly did it because of work. A few months into my minimum wage job, and I was stressed. As to why did I say mostly? A part of me, and I hate myself for admitting this, thought I looked cool for smoking. I know, I know! Can we all please move on from this? Thanks.
I smoked, but I knew when I started that it wasn't something that was going to be forever. Like the job I had then, which is the same job I have now, I knew that I wouldn't want to be doing it after 5 years. (BTW, if anyone knows anything in the LA area that includes limited human interaction, please let me know.) So that was my thing: stop smoking at 5 years.
Smoking was always something that I would talk about in my later life, hopefully not in my later-later life. Like a douchey boyfriend, "It happened in my 20s and we all regret it, but I got rid of that bastard. Now let's all have some cake!" Glad I got rid of that douchey boyfriend.
I don't want to say that it was something that just happened with a snap of my fingers, because it wasn't that. It was a process. For months I had been smoking less, and less, and less. It just happened. And it wasn't because of any guy. It just was. Some days I would want to smoke, and I did, one, sometimes two, occasionally three cigarettes. Other days I wouldn't. (You should know that on Sundays, most Sundays that is, I stayed home and didn't smoke.)
A few days before I got sick, I bought a new pack while getting gas for Ron Burgundy. Smoked maybe one, or two. After recovering from the worst, I threw the pack out. Almost a complete pack. And I haven't looked back.
Well, in all honesty, maybe I have. I still have that shitty, stressful, low paying job. When I'm having a really bad day, those are the days when I miss them. But then I get home, take off my shoes, fall on my bed, and bask in the glory that I didn't smoke.
"I really got rid of that douchey boyfriend for good, I tell ya!!"
Not that you're gonna listen to it, but here's the jam: New Ways of Living by Destroyer