I need it to be available anywhere and at any time. Any suggestions?
In my formative years, my mouth got me into a lot of trouble. In my later years too, but I learned to use my superpowers for good, not evil.
My first memory of the concept of death was at four. I had just eaten raw (wet) rubber cement in an effort to feel it. It felt weird on my fingers and like all things, if I couldn’t get enough of the feeling via my hands, I put it in my mouth.
My mom was driving on the
410 405 in Los Angeles and looked back to see me stick the brush applicator into my mouth. I remember her telling me to stop that I was going to die, it was bad.
Then there were the snails. I would suck them out of their shells wanting to feel them in a way I couldn’t with my fingers. It wouldn’t have been a problem except for the snail poison. The next memory I have is the backyard hose down my throat.
I was seven years old when my mother got tired of it. A security guard at a Los Angeles museum had me by the back of my shirt.
“Ma’am. Can you please keep your child from licking the statues.”
My mom was an artist. She understood the need to experience art and she was kinda proud that she had a kid who was interested. She totally understood when I told her I couldn’t feel the marble with my fingers. Hell, she was thrilled it wasn’t something that she would have to pump out of my stomach, but she also didn’t want to have to deal with a kid who licked things constantly.
So she introduced me to pens. At first it was pencils, but I gnawed those until the paint came off in flakes and I didn’t like that. So pens it was. And pen caps. She could deal with blue lips and tongues; it wasn’t going to kill me and was much easier to explain to the neighbors.
In college, I discovered cigarettes.
I’ve quit and started up again many times. When I quit it tends to be for years. Then I have one or two and remember why I started in the first place.
If I’m not smoking, I’m looking for something else to stick in my mouth. As I’ve been an eternal diet (1+ year) I really don’t want to eat. I’d rather smoke. I don’t even want to hear it. I’d rather be a smoker.
Enter Sparky. Sparky is very health oriented and is a militant solider in his anti-smoking crusade. He’s also stuck more in the anal stage. He can’t empathize with my oral issues. I know, I know, you all hate smokers and that’s fine. Its a filthy habit and it stinks and kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray. I know all that, but what non-smokers don’t understand is the pleasure smoking gives to the smoker. We smoke for a reason and that reason isn’t to dirty your air.
As a kid, when I’d feel a certain level of frustration build up, I’d pull out my eyelashes. All of them. over and over again. I was called “Turtle Girl” growing up. Eyelash pulling, for me, was the marijuana of self mutilation. It lead to other, more serious, less acceptable forms of self mutilation.
And then I discovered cigarettes. I got to do something with my mouth and relieve stress. Cigarettes are nirvana to the orally fixated neurotic.
However, at Kasa Krazy Kraut, Sparky is on a smoking jihad. If I smoke, I have to shower, brush my teeth and lotion up before Sparky will deign to kiss me. He comments each and every time I light up. He counts how many cigarettes I’ve smoked and lets me know.
“Wow, that’s three in a hour. Did you know you were smoking that much?”
That drives me up the fucking wall. As his streaming commentary on my cigarette consumption flows, I just want to smoke more. It adds to that certain type and level of frustration that is almost impossible to deal with constructively and adds a layer of pissiness to our relationship that we just don’t need.
I exercise as a form of stress reduction, but I hate it. It’s not really stress reduction, its guilt reduction. I feel less guilty for eating when I exercise. The best part of the gym for me is leaving. I meditate and occasionally indulge in yoga, but nothing satisfies like sticking something in my mouth.
So given my love affair with cigarettes, the next item might surprise you.
Driving home the other night, I decided to cut back. Just because. Its been easier because Sparky is gone.
And I’m too lazy to go out and buy a pack.
Its a good thing I type because there isn’t a pen that is safe in this house.