Grid System

Here we are, on the verge collapse, too tired to eat and too hungry to sleep. My waking dreams are of sleeping in and my hopes are to remain in an exhausted delirium until the end is near or the final pillow falls.
Enough of that. I"m at work. I did my time for Aaron's company earlier today and now I'm at the coffee shop. My bagel is almost finished and my second cup of coffee of the day is about to begin.
It's counter-intuitive, I suppose, that coffee and cigarettes seem to give me less energy. I don't smoke cigarettes these days, but last time I started was an attempt at getting the upper hand on my busy schedule. I ended up smoking at the very least a half pack and drinking an energy drink or two by the time any given day was done that semester. I had never felt so worn out by the end. It happened in a weird way, too: the most difficult part of the day was getting out of bed. Once the hard part was over I felt in a haze. There would be brief moments of clarity, of course, because drinking energy drinks on a daily basis will do that. After school (which was generally 5 days a week from 9:30-2) I'd head downtown where I was employed by my dad as his... well, "legal assistant" was my title and "law clerk" would my what I would say to give unwarranted good impressions to random people. Truth be told, I was very ineffective. My dad was well-aware but knew I had nothing else lined up.
The worst part of this over-bearing attack of stimulants on my nervous system and on my brain was that I didn't do anything well-- I failed math class, dropped Spanish, pitied my way into an A in Abnormal Psychology, and... I don't even remember what other two classes I was taking. There, I looked it up: a B in speech and a C in Logic. My point is that my logic entering such a challenging semester was faulty: I figured that a healthy dose of stimulating beverages and smokes would ensure good grades and an excellent mind. Not the case. Oh, and within a week of the end of the semester, Girlfriendo had had it up to here (which may be her chin if she were to motion) and got the ball rolling for us to break up. The root of the problem, of course, was me.
I mention all this because I've been drinking all kinds of coffee lately. I haven't been smoking cigarettes, nor have I been drinking that red bull-urine stuff either, but it may all be in compensation. I'm fairly certain that the effects of caffeine on the nervous system of a human being is not very positive, and I don't like the idea that I haven't quit cigarettes if I'm still having to compensate. And now I don't know how to end that thought.
Here's the deal with this place I'm moving to, though: The lady downstairs smokes, the girl I'm living with smokes, Aaron's been working on a pack of Parliament lights for the past 4 days, and the Loyola kids who party every weekend and live in the building next door smoke while they're drinking outside. All of this sounds right up my alley. Well, not my current alley. Girlfriendo may murder me if I start smoking again, the ol' family will be mighty upset, Danny and Matsuo will be pissed off that I keep quitting and starting again and again...
On the other hand, what I don't usually do is reason my way through this. I call my current predicament an "intellectual relapse." I don't, normally, as I just came up with that. I would, though, had I though of that little phrase sooner. Regardless, here's what I mean (I'll use this current circumstance as an example of what usually happens at first): I stopped smoking on a daily basis about three months ago. Actually, damn near exactly three months ago. The first day or so goes by, followed by the first week or two, and my mind-set is "I never want to go through this kind of withdrawal again as long as I am alive." Once that passes, there's a two week period where I will probably smoke one or a few and realize that I've either made a terrible mistake or that I was right to quit all along. Once a month has gone by, I'm in this mode where I'm actively against smoking. I smell someone smoking a cigarette and I hold my breath; I stop going to my dad's house because he smokes inside; I stop calling my friends because they all smoke.
On to the three month mark... It's a different season, stressors are different, and my general routine has changed (maybe even my residence). At this point I feel like cigarettes was never much of a problem and that beginning again would be more of a hobby or recreation than anything else. After this mindset has set in, I go out drinking-- maybe I call up a smoker to go drinking with on purpose, just to speed up the awkward process of beginning again. I either do or do not buy a pack that first night and, when I wake up, I think, "Man, smoking was a bad idea. I feel like shit." Once the next evening comes on, though, I'm ready to go out drinking again-- only, here's the thing: I'm not particularly jonesing for a drink. I decide I may be off the path I had cleared for myself three months earlier, so I make a conscious decision to limit my smoking to when I go out drinking. The rest of the story is simple: I adjust my drinking schedule with my smoking needs and soon I'm going out every night. Sooner or later I realize that going out so often is not economically viable and I quit drinking (or, at least, cut back). Within the terms of this cut-back is a complete lack of attention on behalf of cigarette-smoking. By this point, it is a given that when I wake up, I will smoke a cigarette while my coffee is brewing.
The End

The sequel would be the other half of the circle, where the first month or so has me thinking, "What did I do without cigarettes?" My thought-process will have sped up, my social interaction will have become more frequent, and no moment will be wasted (because unoccupied time was converted into a smoke-break, of course). All of a sudden, this new and improved me is on top of the world: I can spend endless amounts of time talking to my old man, sitting in a musty apartment in Champaign, or in a crappy bar in Chicago (until I have to step outside, of course). Once that month is up, things start to free-fall: I realize that my diet has been caffeine and cigarettes, predominantly (mixing it up with Pepsi is not unheard of, though). I run on very little food (let alone healthy food) and, as far as the literal definition of "run" goes, I do very little. I take the train or my car instead of my bike and I refrain from even playing catch with Hank for very long. There's a period of uncertainty where I carry on with my ways but I'm in a depression because I begin to realize that the decisions I'm making are bad ones. Eventually, I feel the physical downsides: my heart begins to burn when I smoke, my lungs expel disgusting shades of green phlegm, and I have trouble sleeping (which is followed by trouble waking up).
At a moment in time that has not been predetermined (and sometimes in the middle of a pack), I quit. It is usually at the end of the night so I don't have to experience too many waking hours of cigarette-fiending immediately. For the next few days I am exhausted and refreshed at the same time. My conscience is eased, my breathing is easier, and my general health seems to upgrade fairly instantaneously.
It's a matter of about three months before I forget the upsides and wonder if quitting was worth it at all.