I'm kind of concerned that this journal is going to turn into one of those non-smoker diaries, on par with Bridget Jones's Diary, or some such crap like that.

Day 1: Had one significant hallucination, and one minor hallucination in the middle of the night. Enjoyed both tremendously, and felt bad for doing so. The sixties are gone, I keep telling myself, and they're never coming back. I saw nothing in the fall line to indicate the contrary, but I'll keep skimming those fashion mags. Maybe I'll at least find a suitable bathing suit to cover my spreading bottom.

Day 2: Almost nodded off three times at work. Missed nothing except for a phone call from an overwrought Will Leitch, blabbering on about this and that and how he can't even afford any cigarettes. I told him he was an insensitive, insufferable fool and he begged for my forgiveness. Oh dear, when will the world work in my favor? I think I'll go eat something fattening. Note to self - nod off more often at work. It makes the day go so much more terribly faster.

And so forth.

I did have a rocking hallucination last night, though. There were all of these cool, multi-colored triangles hovering high above my head. They were attempting to merge and form little diamonds, which I took as a very good sign.

I've written about this before so I won't bore you too much with it, but diamond imagery has been a common hallucination for me in the past. It's connected to a theme of reinvention in my life: we are all diamonds, and are capable of reinvention at any given moment. But reinvention isn't really creating something new. Rather, it simply means we choose a different facet of a diamond to clean, shine, and turn for the world to see. I'm hoping the triangles attempting to turn to diamonds was my subconscious acknowledging my struggle in a positive light.

I'm so hippy-dippy sometimes, I know.

I have to take what I can get, though, to get through this shit. It kind of sucks major ass, to be perfectly honest. I did almost nod off three times today at work. Mr. Nicoderm and his backup singers the CQs ain't playing, yo. They'll rock your world with 21mg of funky, fresh Nicotine, and not even break a sweat (even though you will.) It's too fucking much, but I'm handling it. I have to handle it. I just can't smoke anymore.

And in the meantime, you're just going to have to listen to me talk about it.

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