Jonesing

So many things have happened to me over this past week, but I haven't found the time to write about them. So I'll just tell you about one thing, since it's on my mind a lot. A secret: I started smoking again, maybe a month ago, or maybe a little more. American Spirits (which have no additives -- they're the healthy cigarette!), yellow pack.

The night before last, I decided that I had better things to do with my spare time than smoking, so I quit again. And as you can probably read into this, I'm jonesing pretty hard. This time, it's a sentimental jones, where each brand seems to signify an era.

I've stuck with American Spirits the longest, mainly because I like them and they're not impossible to find. There's something about the guy on the pack that implies smoking is ceremonial and therefore all right. It's true that smoking feels ceremonial sometimes, as does a beer after a hard workout. Today is the first rainy day of the year, so it seems as though something ceremonial is in order. I spent my evening with Matty, and I ate whatever I felt like eating. Meaning, absolute junk. I will revert back to salads and fish once the feeling of deprivation passes.

Before American Spirits, I smoked Hong Meis. These babies were only three cents a pack, and they were s t r o n g . I was thoroughly, thoroughly hooked on Hong Meis for about a year. If it wasn't for them, I might have become addicted to eating or sucking my thumb, I don't know.


Hong Meis were preceded by Export A Lights,


which I could find without much problem in Seattle. These Canadian cigs had goooood filters, and I loved the flat, square box and the tightness with which the tabacco was packed. They were the best quality cigarette I regularly smoked. Funny, then, how readily I took to Hong Meis, which tasted like something that cows once slept on.

And finally, here's the thing that got me started in the first place:


My father's brand, Winston's, which I smoked in the woods across the street. This was always at night-time, and usually it was raining because that's where I grew up: in the rain. I hoped nobody would see me. Someone did, though -- the neighbor, a Mary Kay Cosmetics saleswoman, who tried to rat me out to my mother. Little did she know that my own mother started smoking herself when she was fourteen, and my grandmother didn't care a whit.

That's all I'm going to say about cigarettes for now. I've started working out and doing lots of yoga as a way to curb the desire. I can't say I know where all of this is leading or why I decided to quit right now, at this point in time, but it seemed important this week that I make some changes. Something's got to give, I guess.