To celebrate the successful completion of yet another busy weekend at work I decided to head out last night and grab a couple drinks, see who was at ye olde Spider House, and while I was there for a few hours I bummed 3 smokes over time. That's the limit. And I was curious to see how they made me feel, since it had been about 3 days since my last one.
I don't need cigarettes, hark.
As I sat alone and writing out there, I noticed that a cigarette put me at ease because it gave my left hand something to do. Gave me a carte blanche to stare confidently off into space, thinking.
...but my own secondhand smoke started to irritate me. I ended up feeling embarrassed for smoking, and I felt my stomach unhappy, felt my head get tingly, knew my veins were constricting... It's like I heard my lungs and heart groaning, "D'aw... really, Beth? Really?"
Ze point is, I don't need to do it.
Not smoking, I'm even less compelled to drink. Being released from the nicotine has me in an already-healthy mindset, and it's like I want to keep it that way as much as I can. Huh. Interesting. So... quitting smoking helps me dig myself. Hark!
And y'know my favorite uncle Mike passed away at the end of January this year. He'd fought with mouth cancer since '05. That's when I started smoking. Monumentally I guess as he passes, so can my addiction.
After the three smokes I had last night I woke up with a headache and with a little ol' bump near my chin that wants to turn into a stupid zit, and I'm also of course disappointed that I had any at all, let alone 3. So, fug it.
I am happier and healthier and prettier when I don't smoke.
RJ Reynolds, Winston-Salem, we had a good run. Now F off.
Digging it,
Tha Beef
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