Yeah, so... you'd think I'd be doing ok with the whole no smoking thing by now, after having quit cold turkey over six years ago, and I've never once even touched a cigarette or cigar or anything since then. But dang. Life, you know. So many reasons not to do it, so many reasons why it's a terrible idea. But fucking hell, I could use a cigarette. Maybe in heaven you can light up all you want without it destroying your body and making you stink.
Somehow, sitting or standing around doing nothing while smoking a cigarette feels important. The inner monologue I have while smoking is somehow productive and important. Without the cigarette, well, now I'm just sitting or standing here doing nothing. Time wasting slacker.
Yes, yes, "Blow in her face and she'll follow you anywhere." That last picture with the tagline is great. Let me go buy some smokes and try that when my wife gets home from a hard day at work, we'll see how far that gets me. I don't think she'll be "following" me so much as she'll be chasing me down the street with a knife while I'll be running, screaming like a pig stuck in barbed wire, and winded from all the smoke in my lungs.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think the crazyman beard really did help me with my smoke cravings and I really have been thinking about cigarettes a lot more since I shaved it off. There's this innate desire to outwardly express the internal, mental disease one way or another and I haven't been well lately. Slouching around in the same kind of hoodie I've worn for 30 years, well... that only gets me so far.
As if that's not bad enough.
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