exhuberance

There is an exuberance to being Cured of a Habit.  Being cured of smoking-- the behaviour, which is a very specific thing that my psychopathology has a susceptibility to, allowed me to cultivate a private addiction that was as much the drug as it was the behaviour, which originated from my being homeless.  Homeless people smoke.  A lot of people do.  It's built in as a poverty trap, smoking.  It's not necessarily a long term damaging behaviour and thusly I cannot condemn it because if people want to what's the harm, really, with all the microplastics and a million other reasons for cancer, etc, who gives a fuck.  But.

Not needing to do the Smoking Thing or orient my day-to-day behaviour around the Habit is, my god.  It's wonderful.  There's a psychological closure as it closes the door on thirty-two years of behaviour and associations (including friendships) formed around it.  It's a lot to think about.  And I do, what with fifty coming up and that fucking loser being in office, and one of the first things he does is to sign an Executive Order declaring my husband Illegal and my husband having to worry about his papers and his passports and we're trying to move to be somewhere safe when he wins and jesus, it's a lot to be thinking about at fucking FIFTY.

 What a stupid county this is.  What an utterly repugnant turd this has turned out to be.  So it's a nice time to quit smoking, because it clears up my vision when all this other fug is floating around before my eyes.  I frequently find myself bursting into laughter because the smoking is GONE.

It's healing.  Like, I've seriously considered going to some sort of group thing to form a narrative with a bunch of other groupers about my life going forward.  To have that Thing that group gives you.  But this isn't an a.a. thing or a narcanon thing and I'm not grappling with god stuff, at all, so there's no way I'm having that kind of people in my life going forward, either.  Because I don't know any people with those problems, besides myself.  It's just nice that I've done it myself, for myself, with myself, by myself.  My husband has been supportive of course, but he's not privvy to all the thinking I've done, and so there's a lot of processing, surrounding Smoking, as a subject and a uniforming pattern and a psychopathology (involving but not limited to my teenage death drive and a compulsion toward self-destruction and secrecy and the whole closeted gay kid thing) that goes through my mind on the day-to-day since I recently accomplished a complete shedding of all the toys and tools and tokens that kept me yoked to the Habit, including how it was entangled with my creative process in a way not dissimilar to David Lynch, and, well, we all know what killed him.

So.  Yeah.  Feeling good.