I've been thinking about giving up smoking again. Although, before I go any further I should amend that, because I read somewhere you're not supposed to look at it as if you're giving something up. That'll make you less likely to suceed. You're supposed to call it quitting, or stopping. It's kind of a play on words designed to make you feel better about it. You're supposed to step up to the line and declare, I'm quitting. It's a positive thing. Giving up implies it's something you're likely to miss and this is no time to be wishy-washy. So... I'm (kind of) reluctantly thinking about (maybe) stopping smoking, again. (Sigh).
It doesn't feel so bad if you say it fast. It only actually starts to feel bad when, as now, I'm almost out of tobacco. I roll my own for economy. Some people won't leave the house without their cell phone. I won't leave without my leather tobacco pouch. I get a bad feeling if I go out without it. It's sad but true. And I get an even worse feeling when I'm forced to root around in its depths for the last few pinches of tobacco. I get like a mild panic attack, as if something terrible is going to befall me if I don't have a cigarette.
Stupid I know, but there it is. I've dedicated a large part of my life to rolling the perfect cigarette. I have it down to a fine art. I love the smell of tobacco in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or any time, actually. The self help books tell you to avoid situations where you usually have a cigarette. Well, they might as well nail the lid down now and have done with it as far as I'm concerned. The only time I don't smoke is in the shower or when I'm asleep. I don't smoke to excess. Not really. I don't think it's excessive. I can go six or eight hours, if I can't smoke somewhere, it doesn't bother me unduly. It's just the thought of never smoking again that fills me with unease.
Even now, when I haven't quite run out of tobacco, I feel this worrying sense of foreboding and dread for the future. I once read about this man who gave up smoking. He lived out in the sticks miles from anywhere. It snowed and he didn't have any smokes and he walked six miles through snowdrifts to reach a store and buy some. Stories like that do not fill me with confidence.
I know it's not good for me, but I like it, dammit! It's the credit crunch. It's only because I'm flat broke today that I'm even thinking, (not very seriously), about giving up. I mean, quitting. (Maybe).
It doesn't feel so bad if you say it fast. It only actually starts to feel bad when, as now, I'm almost out of tobacco. I roll my own for economy. Some people won't leave the house without their cell phone. I won't leave without my leather tobacco pouch. I get a bad feeling if I go out without it. It's sad but true. And I get an even worse feeling when I'm forced to root around in its depths for the last few pinches of tobacco. I get like a mild panic attack, as if something terrible is going to befall me if I don't have a cigarette.
Stupid I know, but there it is. I've dedicated a large part of my life to rolling the perfect cigarette. I have it down to a fine art. I love the smell of tobacco in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or any time, actually. The self help books tell you to avoid situations where you usually have a cigarette. Well, they might as well nail the lid down now and have done with it as far as I'm concerned. The only time I don't smoke is in the shower or when I'm asleep. I don't smoke to excess. Not really. I don't think it's excessive. I can go six or eight hours, if I can't smoke somewhere, it doesn't bother me unduly. It's just the thought of never smoking again that fills me with unease.
Even now, when I haven't quite run out of tobacco, I feel this worrying sense of foreboding and dread for the future. I once read about this man who gave up smoking. He lived out in the sticks miles from anywhere. It snowed and he didn't have any smokes and he walked six miles through snowdrifts to reach a store and buy some. Stories like that do not fill me with confidence.
I know it's not good for me, but I like it, dammit! It's the credit crunch. It's only because I'm flat broke today that I'm even thinking, (not very seriously), about giving up. I mean, quitting. (Maybe).
4 comments:
I'm with you Charlie...
Ya know I was 11, and had a stint in a juvenile facility waiting for my mother to get out of the slammer. There were a number of boys in juvie too...my comrades, and conspirators. We "smoked" rolled up newspaper for gawd's sake. I think back on it now and just have to shake my head. But I started smoking for real when I was about 13, and used my lunch money to buy a pack of cigarettes to last a week, when I was a freshman in high school. I grew to like smoke, and never looked back.
I too can take a long flight and not be bothered by the restriction, and don't smoke in my bedroom unless I'm just passing through with a fag during the day.
I like a dram or two also...so smoking and drinking are my only real vices. After all these years I see no reason to stop doing what I've enjoyed most of my life.
Having been in many situations without either of my vices for support, I've come to the conclusion I'm neither an alcoholic or a nicotine addict.
I'm an aficianada.
I'll probably die craving one or both of my boon companions....but I'll never blame anybody for being the cause of my demise.
Have you ever seen the sit-com Frasier? When he was trying to help Bebe stop smoking? She does probable the greatest Ode to a cigarette, ever! I wonder if it's on youTube. Slainte!
Well, needless to say really, but I scraped together enough to get another pack of wonderful Golden Virginia hand rolling tobacco this morning. I even like the pack it comes in, green with gold writing..and that smell, that fresh tobacco smell...
About giving up, or stopping, I think it's probably 85% psychological, a habit to break for the most part, something to do when there's nothing to do.
One of the concessions I've made recently is to try and get more exercise, by leaving the fags in my room, instead of nestled near the mouse. This means roughly a 135foot walk every time I want a smoke. Doesn't seem like much but it's more than I'd been doing in years. If there's music playing I try to dance at least part of the way, or do arm exercises...much to the amusement of the Gang of 4. They stop dead in there tracks if I start any kind of dance movement or lunges, ol'-Mom's-gone-over-the-moon looks on surprised faces. They are as easily entertained as I am, I guess.
I can't remember the tobacco I bought to roll smoke on one of my trips...Sweet Afton maybe. I'm a piker though, I carried a rolling machine with me that trip. Don't think I saved a nickel though. I buy cigarettes at the Indian reservation. They sell to us white eyes without government interference, ie., taxes.
Has the smoking ban spread to Welsh pubs now? The € and the smoking restrictions pretty much cured me of the lust I had for Ireland.
The first couple of times I used a rolling machine it made them so tight it turned my face inside out trying to get a drag.. I soon learned to manage without. And you can buy filters now so you don't get bits of tobacco stuck in your teeth..
Yeah, the smoking ban is here. Going to the pub just isn't the same. Most pubs now have some kind of lean to or adapted open sided summer house outside for smokers, really appealing in winter, I'd sooner stay home. A lot of pubs have closed, not just as a result of the smoking ban, but that's been a contributing factor.. plus beer is cheaper in the supermarkets. You can't smoke in any enclosed public places, which doesn't bother me to that extent. I can wait.
I smoke too many sitting here by the PC, I know that. The rest of the time I can go for hours without even thinking about smoking.
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