I don't feel the age I am, or I is.  I feel much younger.  I've wasted a lot of time—changed my brain, as it were.  The obsession surrounds me, the triggers more frequent, and the dreams intense, vivid the longer I'm clean — more surreal even.  Options are open, I guess.  I can sense it amidst the fog of cravings, more so even, as though with an uncanny familarity with the swings of its prowess, its clenching desperation.  I think I'm getting sick again—I mean the onset of a cold.  I've been taking longer walks at nights.  The evening quickly turns chilly; though tis nothing compared to the national average.  I never dress warmly enough, believing the season does not yet warrant it.  It's already January.

I took some alka-seltzer nightime cold, fizzing, to help me sleep.  I noticed it made me kind of lulling, more poetic, whereas a few minutes ago, If I was eating baby carrots I would be chewing them fast and angrily...crunching them, so to speak, with my foot racing.  

I don't want to be crunching them babies angrily

No! we no want to Crunch! the babies...