A pack

I'm sitting here thinking...I quit smoking yet again, and every other time I've sat and thought "Jesus I wish I could have a fucking cigarette" and looked up and I'm at the 7-11 pathetically buying a pack, not even really understanding how I got there. So I'm sitting here thinking, and I realize it's coming on, the feeling, "Jesus, I wish I could have a fucking cigarette." and part of me just snaps a little, and I say in my head "I wish smoking was fun still, but it's not". It's no fun. It used to be fun, but now all I do is think "I'm going to get cancer and my kid will cry and she won't have me when she needs me. My mom won't have me when she needs me. My girlfriend and I won't ever get married, or if we do I'll be her dead husband and that much worse." I think that and I still want a smoke. I think, "I won't be happy or good or feel like anything other than a body smoking away like my poor grandmother did, smoking til she died on her couch."

I'm sitting here thinking of my grandmother. My powerful, foolish, amazing grandmother, who kept me and my brother so safe and helped her disparate daughters and assloads of friends and family and acquaintances. She was so loved. She wasted away in the end. I remember hiding from her once, when I was little and we'd (me & my brother) stay there all the time because mom was working 60-hour weeks. I hid behind her couch, and fell asleep, and she was so frantic trying to find me. She worried about everything. I remember her trying to get me to eat liver...she cajoled and threatened and begged and bargained, thinking it would be good for us, because in her mind liver is good for you. I took a bite eventually, and stood up silently, walked my little 6-year-old ass to the trash and spat it out. Other kids would have gotten it upside the head but all I got was a laugh and an "I guess you won't have any liver anymore, huh!" from my grandmother. She didn't want to feel bad, or make others feel bad.

i'm sitting here thinking I wish I could be as loyal and strong and dedicated as my mom and my grandmother, and how I have to start right now. I have no choice in this: either I am who I think I am, or I'm not. This is not just a fight for my life...we all lose that eventually. It's more important, in a larger view. It's a fight for my identity, in the quiet places that are truly mine. And I will be who I am, who I think I am.

I'm sitting here thinking of my grandmother, and hoping I can be almost like her...I still miss her completely. I remember sitting in her living room, near the end, when she never got off the couch, and she would ask me to buy her smokes because my mom wouldn't do it anymore. And we'd sit there and have a smoke. I felt all grown up at first, but a slow realization of what was happening grew. At that point she hardly got off her couch.

I don't want to be there...I want to be almost like her. I want to be as strong and fierce as her, and loyal like her, and smart like her. That's who I'm trying to be right now. That's who I will be. That's who I am.