I still smoke.
One thing has remained the same since the last time I actively blogged (which, incidentally, was when I was in college) - I’m smoking. I remember when I really started to smoke. I had been casually smoking for several years. Mostly over coffee with friends (this was back when you could smoke indoors with only minor looks of scorn from passersby), but never habitually and with the pangs of “need to” from addiction.
I don’t know why it took so long to really take, but it finally did while I was throwing a birthday party for a long ex-girlfriend in my apartment. I don’t know if it was the sheer quantity of cigarettes I smoked, or the number of people smoking, but I remember the next morning waking up with no cigarettes and thinking “I need to buy a pack… right now.” and rushing down the stairs to the gas station across the street to start to feed a new vice. In the city packs were $6.00 and I thought it was insane. Now they’re $10.00 - and a $6 pack is like a quaint childish price from what might as well be the 50’s.
I have to admit that sitting here writing again with a cigarette burning next to me feels good. As much as I would actually kind of, halfheartedly, like to quit - smoking and writing go together about as smoothly as smoking and drinking coffee.
How a fucking cliche.
And, I just lit another one.