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I think I am addicted to cigarettes. Now it is never a nail-biting, clawing-my-seat kinda impulse, but it usually goes like this:
hmm, cigarette. I can smoke a cigarette.
I wonder if I have any in my bag.
Nope. That sucks.I think I would like to light up and sit back and smoke and think about stuff.
Maybe my upstairs neighbour has one.
knock knock.
Hey, Sarah, are you smoking these days?
No? Good for you! Is Walter home?
Oh. O.K. nevermind. No, nothing urgent.
thinking: cigarettes are expensive. If I have a pack, I will smoke all of them. Maybe I will just buy a pack and give lots away to people.
Or, maybe I have a 1/2 smoked one somewhere.
looking for butts. There is a 1/4 cig in the ashtray lamp by my computer. I light it on the gas stove. I singe my eyelashes. It tastes foul.
I go to the store for the real thing. I shell out lots of dough for a small pack of Canadian brand smokes. I unwrap it there and light it as I am walking out. It is ok. Not as good as I had anticipated. I smoke it anyway.
Now I smell of cigarettes. And I feel guilty. I smoke 3 more that night. Number 2 has extra pleasure because it comes after reading a very stressful email. I smoke another as I am composing my reply.
As I have demonstrated, my impulse control is poor. Instead of hitting "save to draft", I read it once more, butt out the smoke and send the angry email. Instant regret.
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8.28.2002
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