A Tad Haggard, But Back Fo Mo

Has it been forever or what? Phew.
Well I'm here - in spite of myself and of life ... I'm here and willing to spew more ponderings every now and again .

Some days my desire to write is so strong I can barely stand it. Everything comes to mind and yet nothing lasts along the journey from brain to fingertips. It truly pains me in places many people don't know they own.

Today I sit as comfortably as possible; hot tea at my left side and to my right, nothingness replacing the spot my ashtray once occupied. I have quit smoking and sometimes I wonder "at what cost?" It has been six weeks since I've tasted tobacco. I miss it so. If you cannot grasp that concept, read no further ... nothing I'll be writing today could interest or touch you in the least.

My smoking habit was both my worst enemy and best friend for nearly 23 years. The release it offered me was almost indescribable. I could be stressed to the max or so low that crying didn't even feel worth it - but light up a cigarette and the darkness started to lessen up a little bit with each toke - or at least, that's how it seemed. For me, what it translated to was a cross between, "I can handle anything that comes my way as long as I know there's a cigarette in it for me at the end" and "Oh yes! I deserve this marvelous treat."

There were cigarettes in between the stresses too. I mean, who could survive twenty three years of uninterrupted tension? Impossible. And so, I freely admit that many of the butts I smoked were wasted on physical habit. Many. Oh the dollars ... I can't begin to think along those lines ... I could drive myself mad!

I clearly recall dozens, no hundreds of times ... maybe even thousands of times when I was actually bothered by the smoke from my own cigarette, or the fact that I had one less free hand at the moment; the fact that I was forced to freeze my ass off so that I may enjoy my habit of choice. Still, it was worth it.

I cannot tell you that my cigarettes tasted particularly good, yet strangely, if I couldn't find my brand, I wasn't easily satisfied with another. I didn't like the heaviness in my chest on cold days or anytime I had to exert myself. But a silly thing like my lungs wearing thin or my heart aching for calm wasn't going to stop me from giving in to my need for a smoke. Uh uh.

One of those annoying non-smokers once asked me why I wanted to punish myself with this self-destructive habit. The great irony is that I felt it would be even worse than self-punishing to give them up - but try explaining that to someone who can't see beyond their life's windshield.

I referred to "annoying" non-smokers so I might as well stop here to offer explanation. With as much tenacity as I have vowed to quit, I also vowed never to become annoying about it. I hereby claim the following types to be "annoying" and will stand behind this claim for the remainder of my days:

* Any FORMER smoker who has successfully quit and claims "If I could do it, anyone can." To them I say ... how DARE you presume to know me. You don't walk in my shoes or live in my soul - you have no idea what motivates me or what drags my ego through the mud. It's lovely that you were able to quit - it's absurd that you figure your own success to be some sort of warped, official guideline for others.

* Any person who is an alcoholic (either admittedly or in denial) - who has a dependency on pharmaceuticals - who has an eating disorder, particularly those who are clearly obese - or who is reliant on any other form of evil habit and still has the audacity to tell me smoking isn't good for my health. To them I say ... people who live in glass houses should always wear clothes ... or ... where's your self control? ... or ... Show me da money, bucko.

* Anyone who has never so much as entertained thoughts of holding, no less inhaling a cigarette - yet feels they can dish out quitting tips - or suggests that quitting should be easy ... "After all, it's not like you need it." To them I say, you wanna make a fuckin bet?

As I sit here now, I strain against the urge to watch my smoke curl its way up to the ceiling ... I strain against the urge to reach and toke. I strain against the urge to pause - rereading and checking my writing as I move along - and to enjoy a couple of hits off a glorious, sexy and comforting cigarette. Good Christ, this is such a test.

Do I seek a pat on the back? Why yes, as a matter of fact. I do. I've gotten several since I stopped enjoying cigarettes and I feel they are well deserved not to mention soaked up like a dry sponge to spilled milk.

I'm still waiting to feel some sudden rush of great overall health; it hasn't happened yet.

I'm still waiting for the after-dinner yearning to lessen; that one is far and away the strongest, and the bad news is that my father who quit around 25 years ago claims he still gets that particular nicotine craving on occasion.

I'm still waiting to be able to sit comfortably at my familiar old computer desk in my familiar old room where smoking was my warmly welcomed and openly invited guest and where it was most often greatly enjoyed; this hasn't happened yet either. I'm still pretty uncomfortable in here.

BUT ... the good news is that my hair smells delicious, my blood pressure has gone down some, my clothing smells like softener, my morning mouth no longer tastes like skunk-funk, my skin feels a little softer and I now get to eat all the shit that will probably kill me in an altogether different way than would the frigging nicotine. Hm, wait ... An excuse to gain weight ? ... second to pregnancy, this is the bomb!