The thing is… I like to smoke. When I was younger I always liked the heroines from 1940’s era movies with their perfectly coifed hairstyles and those slender cigarette holders. I like the way people punctuate their speech with smoke… a long drag instituting silence that can mean so many things.
Smoking never held the addiction over me like I know it does for so many people. “I only smoke when I drink” I would say. I smoked in High School to be rebellious (Lord help me for that particular cliché) and I smoked in college because… smoking in college just seemed like the thing to do. When I was dieting I smoked to keep the hunger pains away. I smoke because I like to, I like the feeling.
I know smoking is wrong. Trust me. Every mile of every run I ever take I know that I’ve made the right choice by giving up smoking. Every pose in every yoga class I feel better for having not having smoked. I listen to the same commercials as everyone else. I know people whose lives have been torn apart by lung cancer, my own family wrought with heart disease, all attributed to smoking. I get it, I do.
That is why this New Year’s Eve I decided to give up casual smoking. No more smoking “when I drink” (because I’m not in denial – I drink A LOT – that’s another post all together), no more just a drag or two out with friends, no more “when in Vegas”. I was just going to be a non-smoker. I had been proclaiming to be one for ages right?
So why is it that since I’ve made that decision, which I didn’t tell anyone about save one, that I’ve had more of an overwhelming desire to light up than I can remember in ages? It’s like there are cigarettes everywhere! At the drugstore across the street from my office… At the grocery store when I run for our weekly supplies… It’s all I can do to not casually request a pack to be tossed in with the rest.
What the hell?