Here's a personal statistic that I'm pleased about: today, February 12th, it's been 29 years since I quit smoking.
But I still miss smoking. I know it's bad and I'd have been dead years ago if I were a smoker; shoot, if I started now, with my diabetes, I'd be losing body parts withing 2 years, probably. Every junkie knows his drug, they say, and I sure know mine. I can tell you what it felt like the first time that day, my preferred brands, methods of administration, what it felt like after too much... everything. Tobacco's my drug and it always will be.
I have a dream at least once every summer or fall, when the weather's balmy. I'm at a party and someone unseen holds out a package of cigarettes and says "Oh, it's okay; they've taken all the bad stuff out now." And I reach down and take one and start to light it. I'm sure that it's something of a replay of when I lit someone's cigarette for them in 1982. We were camping and I figured I'd light it just to see what it felt like. I didn't inhale, knowing that that would've been sure to set off really bad cravings (and I would've coughed my head off, I'm sure), but the joke was on me: even having that little bit of smoke in my mouth and soaking in through the mucus membranes was enough to trigger some wicked-bad cravings for a week, so I haven't done that since then. And I now I'm stuck with this dream that comes up every so often that says "C'maaaaaaahn, you can do it. You won't get hooked because you're cool."
Nope.
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