I thought I woke up in hell last night...

It turns out I dozed off with a lit cigarette.

Except, now that it's broad daylight and I'm back in the worldly environment of my workplace, I think that maybe it was, at least, a glimpse of hell. Maybe I should recount it.

I got back from this bar where I've been spending way too much time lately. I raided the fridge to quell that drunken hunger you get, set the timer on the tube and fell asleep with the lit cigarette.

I don't really remember what it was that woke me up. Whether it was the sting of the singed quilt or the irritation caused by the smoke eludes me. I just woke up to fire, not thinking it a big deal, at first. I dabbed at the little puddles of bright orange, thinking in my stupor that if I could just put it out and go back to sleep, I could clean it all up, nice and tidy, in the morning. It reminds me of that time when I, having just woken up, tried to sush a ringing phone with my Zippo lighter from where I lay, i.e. thinking it was some sort of remote control device.


"May I recommend Nicorette gum"

I understood, although very gradually, what the hell had happened. The whole room was engulfed by smoke and the quilt mom bought me for new year's was half gone. I felt sheer "how could this happen" shock at the predicament I'd put myself in. Had I hit bottom? I think so. I grabbed the ashtray and flung it across the room, shattering it to smithereens. When I calmed the fuck down I made sure that nothing else was burning and went back to sleep.

I will now make a list of resolutions to get my shit back together. Don't smoke in bed leads the list.

Being a single, semi-educated alcoholic with an eating disorder in a deadend job is beginning to pall.