Being in time

As of 1st November, I have been attempting to

1. Write a novel, and
2. Not have any cigarettes.

The novel thing is, of course, a Thing, and was prompted by the desire to write something in a longer form, and because sometimes it's nice to do a thing that lots of other people are doing and talking about. The cigarettes thing is prompted by upcoming surgery (the kind I've chosen to have, which I realise I should lead with when I talk about it, otherwise people are quite reasonably confused about why I am excited about it).

They actually work.. surprisingly well together. Or at least so far, as of day three (at time of writing). The lack of cigarettes is, of course, hell. There is this odd response, when you say that you need to give up smoking on a particular date, that replies "well, why not just do it now?" as if smoking were something that added nothing to your life, that you did despite not liking it, with no good reason, that you could take or leave (if it weren't obviously for the whole addictive thing). Why not? Because I love it? Because my relationship with nicotine has been the longest, most continuous, reliable and joyous of my life. Because the desire for it helps me get out of bed on mornings (rarer now, it is true) when I cannot summon the effort to construct all the other complicated reasons why that might be a good thing. Because I have problems connecting myself as a person that desires through time, and nicotine is a very effective way of kick-starting the "wants" faculty of the brain, a beautifully quick and straightforward answer at any given to the question "what do you want?", the spark plug that gets that process firing, and reminds you that you know how to want other things too. And when I say all that, there are those in my head, who hear it and respond with pity, and disappointment: well, that's sad. Fucking yes? I dunno, depression's a bitch? What do you want me to say? The fact remains that since the age of 15, when the whole projecting yourself into the future as a coherent entity began to feel a little shaky, I have strung the construction of myself between points of nicotine (and caffeine, also that), and it has worked very well, and the times of consecutive months-long duration when I have not smoked have also been those in which I felt like shit. The idea of not smoking terrifies and repels me, because I associate the times when I did not want a cigarette with not wanting anything at all.

But I am doing it anyway! Hurrah!

And! I was talking about writing, and then got distracted by a rant. I think the process of writing a (shit) novel (really shit, I'm deliberately doing that thing that I did at points in the PhD where you don't let yourself rewrite or edit, so things are misspelled and sentences are repeated or contradict each other or sometimes fall into each other or stop half way through) is helping with the whole constructing a unity through time thing. Maybe? I mean, I have gone to bed ridiculously early the past few nights due to failing to see the point of being awake any more™, but that I think will pass, or if it doesn't just means I become a ridiculously morning person for a bit which is probably not the worst thing in the world. Narratives are in time! Even shit ones that need editing!

Or it's distracting me at any rate, which also works.