Thank You for Smoking

I'm not a smoker. People have known this about me. I've loathed it ever since the 7th grade when my science teacher cheerfully passed around the shriveled blackened lung of a life-long smoker, pressed between two thin sheets of glass, to the abject horror of 30 inner-city prepubescents. In my 20s, I'd be sensitive to the smallest vestige of smoke, as it often lay claim over my friends' clothing and hair. I used to force myself, pre-smoking ban, to tolerate the hours of concentrated exposure at music clubs back when I used to go to gigs 2-3 times a week.

Times have changed.

I'm not a smoker. Not really. But ever since I was exiled into this shitty prison of solitude, cigarettes have become a most unlikely crutch. I remember the turning point too. A couple of years ago during a particularly dark period of my life marked by a near-complete withdrawal from society and an unhealthy addiction to free internet access, I slowly became obsessed with this man and I vowed to devote myself and my uterus to him and only him. His tour brought him to Brooklyn and I knew my chances of being able to approach him were high because the venue was so intimate. I managed to muster the courage to speak with him (!) and we proceeded to have non-awkward conversation (!!) and he was gracious and handsome and sooo sexily Anglo. But then it happened. "I'm going out for a ciggie. Care to join?" he asked (or something like that but more British). And I said...wait for it... "No thanks, I don't smoke." NO THANKS. *Cue door of opportunity loudly slamming shut.* So that's when I sort of became the female equivalent of Yes Man cuz "no thanks" does not get you anywhere....or laid.

A week later I bought a pack of cloves (which smell good but they're god awful). Fast-forward to now. I smoke when I'm feeling lonely, which is to say almost every day. I usually limit myself to one cancer stick a day, in my pajamas, by my bathroom window. They don't calm my nerves, they don't help me think, nor do they comfort me in any way. I'm not addicted. In fact, during good times I can go weeks or months without. It's a habit. But strangely, it's a pretty accurate barometer of my emotional state.

This month's cig count has been a personal best. I suspect this has something to do with the holidays. (So fuck you, holidays.) A new year is approaching. Let's see how I'll do.