It’s been 4 weeks. It still sucks. Yesterday, I went out for groceries, and as I was leaving the supermarket a bunch of employees were coming in from their smoke break. And they smelled really, really bad, which made me want one really, really bad. Go figure. I think about them every day. I have those irritating, split-second moments where I think to myself, “It’s about time for a smoke. Uh, wait. No. No it’s not.”
I’ve been having dreams about smoking and that’s never happened before. In some of them I’m surrounded by very hip 20-somethings, and they’re all smoking. And I’m not. When I wake up from these nightmares I wonder if I could run off to some far away university and take up smoking and drinking and partying and live that one part of my life that slipped away. “Daddy, what’s for breakfast?” No, I guess I can’t.
They say that once one stops smoking, one regains a certain degree of lost sensitivity. Taste and smell. Well, my sense of smell has definitely become more sensitive to cigarette smoke. Steaks aren’t any better than they used to be. I think “they” need to shut their pie holes.
I have noticed that my breathing has got a bit easier. So that’s a bonus. “They” also keep reminding me that I’m reducing my risk of heart attack and cancer, and that’s all fine and dandy, but the bacon still doesn’t smell any better. And right this very minute I could use some material justification for all of this. Granted, it’s only been a month and I should probably have some patience, but a really great tasting, and smelling, burger would seriously make my day.
QOTD from the big one. “Daddy, how long did it take you to grow up? Hundreds of years?”
That is all.