Well damn. I saw it coming. Working late again. No lunch. Pushing the limits of just how many times I can say, "Sure. No problem" without loosing my cool and now I am home launching my own brand of lung-butter. Partly my own damn fault though. After two years off the ciggies, I was feeling fine and nary a inkling of a cold or flu ran past me. Although the desire to smoke was always there. I really did enjoy the act of it because it usually involved a bar, friends who also drank and smoke and a joke or two in between. A lot of pent up stress was worked out in this way and in this most seductive environment. Overall, however, I despised the actual ashtray smelly all over hobo feeling it left me with. So I quit. Sometimes the occasional one here and there to remind me of why I quit would happen. But under duress, I have a tendency to be self-destructive and so I began lighting up just in time for the new year!
At first, I said it would be one a day. Just after work and preferably with a cocktail in hand. Just to relax. Ah, and there the lie began. It is too much sometimes to be so familiar with an act and think somehow you are not really, actually, going to become addicted. So amazing to be in my head and actually looking at the cigarette butts piling up and believing whole-heartidly this one in my hand is the last one. Even now, I am devising ways of how to somehow stick to the one cigarette rule despite the last 72 hours of my own impression of Bill the Cat.
I have very supportive friends and in truth, I could be less lazy with the mind and begin a healthier approach to relaxation. But where do I start?
Anyone know where I can find a jukebox, some oxygen and a joke telling little person name Madge?
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