I really enjoy smoking. I enjoy the feel of the cigarette between my left forefinger and middle finger, I like the feel of the filter against my thumbnail when I tip my ashes.
I like riding around in the car listening to the radio and smoking cigarettes. I like laying on a blanket under the stars and smoking cigarettes. I like listening to songs about smoking cigarettes. I like the way a new pack kind of smells like raisins when I tear the front piece of foil out, grab the 3rd and 4th cigarette from the front row of the pack, flip one upside-down and smoke the other.
I love how a cigarette can fill a lull in conversation. I love taking that moment to inhale, look away and exhale while I’m composing my thoughts.
I like sitting around with friends, sharing a smoke and good conversation. I like eating half of my food at a Mexican food restaurant and then having a cigarette before deciding if I want to eat the rest of it.
I lovelovelove that morning cigarette when I first get into my car. I actually look forward to my daily commute.
I like knowing that regardless of what else is going on, I can go outside with a cigarette and enjoy almost 10 years worth of familiarity.
I love when my best friend and I dye our hair, we know that 2 of her Misty Light 120 cigarettes will equal out to 22 minutes, leaving 3 minutes to run the shower and rinse our color out right on time.
When I was a call center representative on a strict 15 min break schedule, I knew that two Marlboro Lights equalled 14 minutes, leaving one full minute for walking from my desk to the smoking area and back.
I love smoking while I’m singing at the karaoke bar and smoking while I’m listening to other people sing. I like lending my lighter to and striking up conversations with strangers. I like when I’m outside at the airport waiting for my ride and the frazzled young lady next to me says, “I’m so sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a cigarette?” and I do! So we both smoke and talk about how much we hate turbulence and overhead bins with too much luggage in them.
I love that I never feel out of place if I’m outside waiting for something or someone. I like trying to blow smoke rings and I like writing or reading or playing guitar with a cigarette loosely pressed between my lips.
On the downside, I don’t like the way houses smell after being smoked in (We only smoke outside) and I don’t like worrying so much about things like lung cancer and blood clots and tax hikes and anti-smoking legislation and smarmy jerks who are convinced that non-smokers are immortal. I don’t like that running hurts my lungs, and I’ll stop half way up a mountain to sit and have a cigarette until I can breathe normally. I don’t like that my parents are disappointed in my decision to smoke and I don’t like knowing that my son may very well take up smoking someday and have to worry about the effects and the taxes as well.
Am I addicted? Maybe. I’ve quit for a couple of months here and there with almost no headaches or twitching, but I’m certainly addicted to the way they make me feel.
