run_for_your_life kerry this is the second day without a cigarette and so far so good. running helps. swap one habit for another. it’s been years since i’ve done this. i only run a couple times a week, lace up my cross trainers after a piece of toast, listen to something energetic when it was summer in the south, brutal sticky and viscous, i ran early so so early i was making up for something maybe. in the winter there i wore running leggings my aunt gave me. i felt legit, though the dog tore a hole in one leg after only a couple months. i used to run with her too. she was graceful and strong, we had a rhythm. dalmatians were bred to run alongside horses and carriages, supposedly. this winter too my ears ache with cold throat and lungs rigid and crisp and burning what was it made me get those new kicks? it was that last cigarette. my legs are not as strong as they used to be but they’re heavier than ever. pausing at the corner i’m hacking up phlegm (they say this is a good sign) watch out for wet leaves watch out for cars blasting through stop signs all i can think is, how’s my stride? 211222 ... kerry i picked a random, decade-old journal entry. i was making cornbread and growing tomatoes and writing furiously. handstands, 3 or 4 miles a couple times a week, i was always talking to someone. in this entry i was having a realization that i was finally living a more or less healthy lifestyle, good habits were forming, i was becoming a better version of myself. euphoria, disbelief, pride. the handwriting in the next entry is slanted and sloppy. i was trying to understand what had just happened to me, understand by writing it. but i couldn't read, not for several weeks. the words existed on the page but made no sense. they looked like ants. i wrote about it in the journal: one day maybe i'll be able to read what i'm writing. maybe eventually i'll understand some of this. still no nicotine cravings, none that last more than a minute anyway. i think it's the cold air and the orange leaves and so many people so many families and roommates and hermits all crammed together in this city, there's so much concrete and noise and so many little dramas. so much life. 211226 ... kerry i have this running through my head all the time now, though the cigarettes are more or less conquered (for now, says a raspy voice). they say give the craving three minutes: set a timer, continue as you were, and when the timer goes off the craving should be gone. it’s working. and i tried not to change my schedule too much, to keep living life as normally. i’m temporarily spending less time around pascal because when he busts out a pack (on the sidewalk, in the park, in the car) my memory and my goal are a slate wiped clean. it’s a truism, sure, but there’s no such thing as one. this morning as every morning i took louie out. we bundled up and went outside and the air was a brisk 20 degrees. i let louie pick the direction down the sidewalk: left! is this spot good enough for you? this looks perfect, right on this little napkin. choose a fucking spot, what difference does it make?! nearly home we rounded a corner and saw a couple doors down two old italian men, one smoking a cigarette. it dangled from his ropy fingertips and the smoke was pale blue-gray. the scent is disgusting to me now, finally, but the routine…it’s unimportant, but i miss it. the morning transition from coffee to cigarette was natural, i rolled my own so they were quite small, and i had just enough time to finish my smoke before doing any scooping. i stopped, began to turn around. louie resisted at first but then came trotting along. “sorry dude, just can’t.” i breathed deeply, calmly, as the two of us dawdled down the sidewalk. 220112 what's it to you? who go blather from