A History of Smoking (Part III)

I loved smoking. Loved the feel of forced smokey air filling my lungs. Loved the exhalation. Quick or drawn out. Leisurely. Luxurious. One by one, I introduced my new 'self' to my friends. Their reactions? 'Why would you do this?' and 'Fuck!' and 'Want one of mine?' I met new people because I smoked. There was an entire underground culture sitting in the smoking sections, and standing outside of government buildings of which I had previously been unaware. Conversations were as easy to start as 'Hey, can I bum a light?' Friendships weren't long to follow. I learned to butt out properly so as to not leave a burning ember and, subsequently, I learned to mock those 'posers' who weren't so deft. I smoked a lot. I lost weight. Smoking is a fantastic diet if one is short on funds. I was constantly left to make a choice between food and cigarettes. Rarely did I ever choose the food. Why would I? Smoking made that food craving go away. It is amazing, really, how quickly smoking became a part of my personna. I experimented with different brands. I started with Players Light King Size. King Size made sense to me. More 'bang for the buck' as it were. Then, I shifted to the occasional American cig. These were smokes for tougher chicks. Going to the bars ordering Jack straight and smoking Camels made me feel invincible. I dabbled with Indian clove smokes. Great for after dinner. These made my lips numb. As long as I had coin for smokes, I was set. I began to wonder how I had ever been able to write a paper without an ashtray beside my keyboard? Smoking provided it all. It gave me time to collect my thoughts. It allowed me to relieve stress. It allowed me a social 'in' in group situations. It was the perfect companion to my morning coffee. It kept my bowels regular. It was better than chocolate for dessert. I loved smoking. I even began to love the crunchy spew filled cough that soon developed over time. I looked forward to a bit of hacking in the morning. It jump started my system. Got me ready for a new day. I loved watching my hands as the held, tapped, lit cigarettes. I loved watching the smoke curl from the tip of my fingers as I pondered the meaning of life. My life as a smoker was good.

Ok. So I really wasn't fond of how my fingers would smell after smoking. And, I hated to smell my clothes after taking a shower. I knew I stunk. I was also beginning to get a bit creeped out from my cough. And, when I caught a chest cold, it seemed to stick around forever. Plus, I didn't have the nerve to tell my parents that I smoked. Didn't want that added stress in my life so visits from/with them were frought with tension and subterfuge as I had to keep my secret life as secret as possible. The drain on my spending budget was becoming more evident with each government tax increase. I was also becoming aware how dependent I was. As a person who prided herself in being able to 'go it alone' as an independent spirit, it was distressing to realize how the mere lack of anything smokeable in my home would send me down into a tailspin of panicked need. I began to see my habit for what it was. An addiction. Internal dialogues began to take shape. I would begin questioning my need for a smoke. I would rationalize with myself that it was ok. I would reward my self for having had gone an hour without a smoke with...you guessed it, a smoke. The honeymoon stage was ending. I could no longer enjoy my cigarettes in total oblivious abandon. If this relationship was going to happen, I was really going to have to work on it.