Smoke That Cigarette

Just like Angry Black Bitch, I thought I would quit smoking this year.  Promised the kids, promised myself.  I know everyone will be happy for me, but first, they have to get through my withdrawals with me—IF THEY DARE!  I thought I’d be okay today, going to work and keeping busy but the cravings filled my head, blocking out any other thought or idea.  Finally, about 1:30, I was ready to either strangle people (I thought I’d start with the 5^th floor), leap out a window (again, 5^th floor), or smoke a cigarette (or five of them).  I decided the safest place for me was home—asleep preferably, where I could get in no trouble.  Only problem was, I did doze off and dreamed of smoking.  Got up and wanted a smoke like I always do when I get up.  Ate some lunch at wanted a cig after, like I love to do after a meal.  About the only thing I didn’t try was having sex (fortunately, there were no offers this afternoon) because I knew where that would lead—me—to the car—in hopes of finding that one forgotten cigarette that somehow eluded my smoking dragnet yesterday (the expunging of the ashtrays, cigarette butts that might be smokable, lighters, and other accoutrement), hidden somewhere under the seat.  I’m pitiful.  And, I’ve been smoke-free for 22 hours.  I really had forgotten how difficult this was, but I’m going to keep plugging, but not puffing, away.

Thank heaven, I have given up smoking again!... God! I feel fit.  Homicidal, but fit.  A different man.  Irritable, moody, depressed, rude, nervy, perhaps; but the lungs are fine. 

 

 ~A.P. Herbert

 Published on: Jul 25, 2006