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dragonfly, free at last
Jul. 19th, 2025 02:33 pmLast night, when I was outside, smoking a cigarette, I saved a dragonfly by turning off the porch light.
I wasn’t trying to be altruistic or anything. Honestly, I only did it because the buzz was annoying the hell out of me. It was driving me crazy, so I cracked the door open, stretched my arm to the light switch, flipped it off, and the buzzing stopped, then, all awash in moonlight, I finished my cigarette and went to bed.
Later that night, unable to sleep, tossing and turning, tormented by the incessant nag of maybe having another smoke, I imagined myself atop a mighty dragonfly, flying off into the scalding Southern sky, free at last, and, at some point, this drifted me to sleep.
I didn't think much of it at the time, but it got me curious as to why exactly some insects do that, incessantly fly into lamplight like that, so I looked it up and learned that many insects, through navigational instinct or whatever, orient themselves by the light of the sun, so artificial lights, like my porch light for example, confuse them biologically, trapping them in this loop of excitement and buzz, totally unaware of the dangers of repeatedly bashing their heads into a light bulb, which got me thinking all philosophical, like maybe I’m not so different from an insect, trapped in dangerous biological loops.
But then, I started thinking that, surely I’m not like an insect, because I have higher thought, I can reason with the world around me, I’m smart. Then I started thinking, but if I’m so smart, and I have all these cool, empowering thoughts, how come I find myself looping, like a dragonfly, on things that I know I shouldn’t be doing? I started thinking that, maybe, thoughts are just this biological trick, like a smokescreen or something, that hides the fact that, perhaps, everything I do is just some instinctual urge for pleasure, like I’m some sort of dragonfly banging my head into the light bulb or whatever. And this thought started to depress me a little bit, so, for some reason, I wrote a haiku about it, which I’ll post at the end of this journal entry, maybe. It’s not very good.
To expand further on this thoughts-are-a-biological-smokescreen thing, sometimes I think that I have no self-control, and it's frustrating because, clearly, I have thoughts and can direct those thoughts into action, but oftentimes my thoughts direct me to the worst possible self-gratifying actions, and it’s funny because, while doing these worst possible actions, there’s always this small thought in the back of my mind that's like, “you know you shouldn’t be doing this,” but that thought is always pushed away by the stronger thoughts of rationalization, like “ok, after this, I won’t do it again” or “shouldn’t I get to enjoy myself every now and then?” or “I’m not hurting anybody” or whatever, and all of this coalesces into a psychic dissonance that ruins the whole mood, if you know what I mean. It's real shoulder-devil, shoulder-angel shit, it really is.
Of course, I’m talking about smoking. If you’ve been following my journal, which you probably haven’t, I started this whole thing with an entry on how, after years of not smoking, I started smoking again. I talked about the heady pleasure of taking that first morning drag, of the mental storm clouds with the heat lightning and the rumble, the great blue heron, and how the whole act of hiding it from family was exciting and, in some ways, a little nostalgic, but after just two weeks, all of that has faded, and now smoking is just another nasty, dragonfly-like habit, a constant buzz in the back of my mind that, frankly, has started to annoy the hell out of me.
It’s funny how, after years of not smoking, it’s so easy to just revert right back to where you left off. I’m right back at that whole smoke-a-cigarette-every-hour thing, the mental countdown always in the back of my mind, distracting the hell out of me. And I forgot how, after smoking a cigarette, my hands feel all clammy, so I have to wash them every hour now, and I forgot how, after not having smoked in a while, I start to feel a little angry at the world, and this anger comes out, even in small little ways, like raising my voice slightly at the pettiest of things, or slamming the refrigerator door just slightly harder than normal, or being all sarcastic to people when it’s totally unwarranted, and then, when they ask “what the hell’s wrong with you?”, I fall back on this excuse of, “well, I just haven’t had a smoke in a while,” then I walk off like a quiet storm, into the backyard, to smoke, which ultimately isn’t fair to anyone around me.
Believe me, as a smoker who was once not a smoker but is now a smoker again, I have the unique grass-is-greener perspective of smoking versus not-smoking versus smoking-again, and, let me tell you, the grass is much greener over there, with the non-smokers, it really is, for example, you don’t feel like shit at the end of the day, that’s for sure. Before smoking, I was full of energy, even late into the night, now I’m like zonked out around 11pm, eyes all watery, body feeling like it’s been sucked dry by a million little nicotine mosquitoes or something.
Maybe, if I could just smoke two or three cigarettes a day, it would be fine. Maybe, in that scenario, it would be like a little guilty pleasure, like a little self-gratifying, feel-good session in the backyard. And that’s what I was hoping this whole smoking-again thing would become, honestly, but that was a foolish hope, because I know better. I know myself. I have an addictive personality. I get trapped in these psychic rationalization loops that are very hard to escape from. I know this about myself. But, for some reason, I ignore my base nature, pretend like I can control it, when I very obviously can’t, because I’m up to like ten cigarettes a day now, and even now, in the midst of writing this journal entry, I’m constantly thinking about smoking another damn cigarette.
So, yeah, I have one pack of Luckies left here, and, after that pack, I’m done. I’m done bashing my head into the light bulb. I’m not smoking anymore. I swear. I have said this to myself like three times now, and each time, when my pack was done, I purchased another, but this time it’ll be different. I swear. I’m turning off the porch light. Just a few more smokes, empty pack, then I’m done. In fact, I'll smoke down the rest of my Luckies as quickly as possible, just to get them out of sight, to speed up the whole process.
Then I'll mount the mighty dragonfly and fly off into the scalding Southern sky, free at last.
big-eyed dragonfly
lover of dangerous light
we are just alike
I wasn’t trying to be altruistic or anything. Honestly, I only did it because the buzz was annoying the hell out of me. It was driving me crazy, so I cracked the door open, stretched my arm to the light switch, flipped it off, and the buzzing stopped, then, all awash in moonlight, I finished my cigarette and went to bed.
Later that night, unable to sleep, tossing and turning, tormented by the incessant nag of maybe having another smoke, I imagined myself atop a mighty dragonfly, flying off into the scalding Southern sky, free at last, and, at some point, this drifted me to sleep.
I didn't think much of it at the time, but it got me curious as to why exactly some insects do that, incessantly fly into lamplight like that, so I looked it up and learned that many insects, through navigational instinct or whatever, orient themselves by the light of the sun, so artificial lights, like my porch light for example, confuse them biologically, trapping them in this loop of excitement and buzz, totally unaware of the dangers of repeatedly bashing their heads into a light bulb, which got me thinking all philosophical, like maybe I’m not so different from an insect, trapped in dangerous biological loops.
But then, I started thinking that, surely I’m not like an insect, because I have higher thought, I can reason with the world around me, I’m smart. Then I started thinking, but if I’m so smart, and I have all these cool, empowering thoughts, how come I find myself looping, like a dragonfly, on things that I know I shouldn’t be doing? I started thinking that, maybe, thoughts are just this biological trick, like a smokescreen or something, that hides the fact that, perhaps, everything I do is just some instinctual urge for pleasure, like I’m some sort of dragonfly banging my head into the light bulb or whatever. And this thought started to depress me a little bit, so, for some reason, I wrote a haiku about it, which I’ll post at the end of this journal entry, maybe. It’s not very good.
To expand further on this thoughts-are-a-biological-smokescreen thing, sometimes I think that I have no self-control, and it's frustrating because, clearly, I have thoughts and can direct those thoughts into action, but oftentimes my thoughts direct me to the worst possible self-gratifying actions, and it’s funny because, while doing these worst possible actions, there’s always this small thought in the back of my mind that's like, “you know you shouldn’t be doing this,” but that thought is always pushed away by the stronger thoughts of rationalization, like “ok, after this, I won’t do it again” or “shouldn’t I get to enjoy myself every now and then?” or “I’m not hurting anybody” or whatever, and all of this coalesces into a psychic dissonance that ruins the whole mood, if you know what I mean. It's real shoulder-devil, shoulder-angel shit, it really is.
Of course, I’m talking about smoking. If you’ve been following my journal, which you probably haven’t, I started this whole thing with an entry on how, after years of not smoking, I started smoking again. I talked about the heady pleasure of taking that first morning drag, of the mental storm clouds with the heat lightning and the rumble, the great blue heron, and how the whole act of hiding it from family was exciting and, in some ways, a little nostalgic, but after just two weeks, all of that has faded, and now smoking is just another nasty, dragonfly-like habit, a constant buzz in the back of my mind that, frankly, has started to annoy the hell out of me.
It’s funny how, after years of not smoking, it’s so easy to just revert right back to where you left off. I’m right back at that whole smoke-a-cigarette-every-hour thing, the mental countdown always in the back of my mind, distracting the hell out of me. And I forgot how, after smoking a cigarette, my hands feel all clammy, so I have to wash them every hour now, and I forgot how, after not having smoked in a while, I start to feel a little angry at the world, and this anger comes out, even in small little ways, like raising my voice slightly at the pettiest of things, or slamming the refrigerator door just slightly harder than normal, or being all sarcastic to people when it’s totally unwarranted, and then, when they ask “what the hell’s wrong with you?”, I fall back on this excuse of, “well, I just haven’t had a smoke in a while,” then I walk off like a quiet storm, into the backyard, to smoke, which ultimately isn’t fair to anyone around me.
Believe me, as a smoker who was once not a smoker but is now a smoker again, I have the unique grass-is-greener perspective of smoking versus not-smoking versus smoking-again, and, let me tell you, the grass is much greener over there, with the non-smokers, it really is, for example, you don’t feel like shit at the end of the day, that’s for sure. Before smoking, I was full of energy, even late into the night, now I’m like zonked out around 11pm, eyes all watery, body feeling like it’s been sucked dry by a million little nicotine mosquitoes or something.
Maybe, if I could just smoke two or three cigarettes a day, it would be fine. Maybe, in that scenario, it would be like a little guilty pleasure, like a little self-gratifying, feel-good session in the backyard. And that’s what I was hoping this whole smoking-again thing would become, honestly, but that was a foolish hope, because I know better. I know myself. I have an addictive personality. I get trapped in these psychic rationalization loops that are very hard to escape from. I know this about myself. But, for some reason, I ignore my base nature, pretend like I can control it, when I very obviously can’t, because I’m up to like ten cigarettes a day now, and even now, in the midst of writing this journal entry, I’m constantly thinking about smoking another damn cigarette.
So, yeah, I have one pack of Luckies left here, and, after that pack, I’m done. I’m done bashing my head into the light bulb. I’m not smoking anymore. I swear. I have said this to myself like three times now, and each time, when my pack was done, I purchased another, but this time it’ll be different. I swear. I’m turning off the porch light. Just a few more smokes, empty pack, then I’m done. In fact, I'll smoke down the rest of my Luckies as quickly as possible, just to get them out of sight, to speed up the whole process.
Then I'll mount the mighty dragonfly and fly off into the scalding Southern sky, free at last.
big-eyed dragonfly
lover of dangerous light
we are just alike
