I wonder if Thoreau ever did that (Days 7 and 8)

Yes--I am still obsessed with quitting smoking, with counting days, with tracking symptoms, with rediscovering who I am (emotionally, physically) without my familiar smoke screen. No--I am not going to say what the "that" of the subject line is, but I can say that I am pretty sure Henry David never did it.

Day 7, the one-week mark, was glorious. Did not make it to the beach but went instead to a favorite swimming spot with The B. Could not have been a more perfect day. That boy mellows me out like no one I have ever known. He gave me a one-week present--a pure white rock shaped like a seven he found in the water. I have been keeping it in the car, rubbing it when I drive (as car/driving time was once prime smoking time).

Day 8, yesterday, sucked balls. I woke up in a terrible mood--alternately angry (and I mean fuming, irate, ready to explode) for no reason whatsoever or on the verge of tears, also for no reason whatsoever. I did exactly the wrong thing--went to school to clean up office, print some things, steal paper, return overdue books, etc. Every second I was there made me want to smoke as many cigarettes as I could fit into my mouth at one time. I did Pilates for an hour, but it only made me want to wring the elongated and relaxed neck of the instructor while screaming "You wanna piece of my 'power center'? Huh? Really? Are you sure?" Fussed around all evening and finally went to sleep, still in terrible mood and tipsy from a little too much wine (sipped steadily at home, alone), but could only manage about 3 hours. Tossed and turned for 2 more and finally gave up at about 6 a.m. This is unusual, as sleep problems are not my thing.

I want to be happy again. Even in the throes of last week's withdrawal, I kept a certain basic cheerfulness or hopefulness or optimism, which is--when all is said and done--the natural baseline of my personality and has been since I was a child. Yeah, I can be a monster, but it--except for the occasional Medusa mood from hell--is usually for a damn good reason. I am worried that my ex-shrink was right, that I use smoking to keep my feelings at bay.

How am I supposed to control my feelings now? I feel like a raw nerve. How especially am I supposed to control the stress of the looming semester? What I realized yesterday is that I cannot stand that place. I felt completely suffocated the entire time I was there. I do not know if that feeling is real or if I am just not ready to be back or if all is blown completely out of proportion because of the quitting smoking thing.

Today I am just tired and fidgety (already at 8 a.m.). Supposed to have lunch with The B., which is not nearly enough for me as I feel like I want to eat him up with a spoon for about 18 hours straight. Tomorrow night I will be hanging out with The B. and with Feste, Demetrius, Falstaff, Cassio, and Ex Turned Friend Whom I Adore Completely (do not know if I ever gave him a pseudonym--let's call him Horatio) for the first time in a long time. Even that does not seem fun at the moment.

What's wrong with me? Tell me to snap out of it.