I’ve been a smoker for more years than I admit to having been alive. There’s something in that number that seems to have a certain awakening effect on a person. I wish I could say that I hated doing it or that I think it’s a horrible habit but neither would be very honest of me. I know that there’s a long list of reasons why quitting would be in my best interests but in the end I still suffer from the incurable condition of humanity. I enjoy smoking, I successfully convinced myself that I’m immortal, and the vision of my health only extends to the past week where I’ve felt better than I have in a long time. We can sure be a confusing breed of creature, can’t we?
I can still remember my first cigarette, and no I’m not going to post my age at that time. Suffice it to say, I was young. These were during my pre-children’s home days, my pre-driving days, and at just the onset of my “girls aren’t icky after all” days. I was having a rough night that evening and things at home were less than perfect. A good friend of mine came to my rescue and we set out walking that evening. We ended up walking around town till dawn, visiting a few friends and just having one of those nights that help you forget about the rougher parts of life. During the middle of that night, I asked that friend if I could have one of his cigarettes and we sat on the curb while I choked down my first. To me, it was something of a symbolic moment of independence or perhaps young rebellion. I’m still not sure which but either way it became part of one of those memories that are hard to let go of.
Through all of this though, it is that original number that has convinced me to finally quit smoking. It’s the reality that if I keep smoking for another year, then in addition to lying about my age, I’ll also have to begin lying about how long I’ve been smoking or have to try to explain how I bought cigarettes in the womb.
Today is the day I quit smoking again, but this time for good.
PS: If, during the following few weeks, you notice that Kristyn is irritable or violently angry; please understand that much of her frustration is coming from coping with an often whining and likely unstable husband. She’s always extremely supportive of my attempts to quit smoking, all dozen or so of them throughout the years. Even though she won’t admit it though, I have a sneaking suspicion that she finds me somewhat less than easy to deal with during these attempts. So instead of wishing me luck, save your best wishes for her because me quitting is much harder on her than it is on me. After all, I don’t have to deal with me as often.
