The Moonlit Path

"My brain says I'm receiving pain, a lack of oxygen, from my life support, my iron lung." -Radiohead

About ten days have passed and I find myself awkwardly restructuring every routine that I have grown so accustomed to in order to recondition my daily life into this new, almost alien-like, way of living. I am slowly peeling away from something that was such a big part of my life--something after years and years had become so normal to me, second nature if you will. I did not realize how taxing this would be to me mentally, however I will note that it has become less and less demanding as days continue to pass. While the sun still rises and falls valiantly with the moon against the horizon and the world around me resumes itself in perfect harmony, my body does not--it lays still, frozen within a zone of discomfort and dumbstruck at the realization that I do not know what to do with myself during long periods of passing time. There was a moment the other day just after I had gotten myself dressed for work that I sat in my chair for an entire hour, staring at a blank wall trying to figure out what I should be doing. Almost everything that I have done up until now has been associated with smoking in one way or another and there is a challenge in filling that absence with something else "healthy." I am hoping that sudden urges or peaks of high stress will not get the best of me and I realize this will take some time to finally master. Fortunately it seems that I have more than enough of it.