Where to even begin. When nothing seems to happen maybe it’s a sign that everything is.
I smoked on the drive home and it tasted terrible. I tossed it before I had smoked all of it, so maybe that in and of itself is a sign of something. Yet I can’t help but feel different. Driving to the gas station after work, buying the cigarillo, & smoking it on the highway felt like a habit beyond myself. No part of me really wanted it save for my curiosity.
Over the past few weeks I have been quitting gradually. It’s not a new year’s resolution. While the merit of those are lovely, they are just not for me. I’ve been quitting because the nicotine rush and tobacco blues were temporary fixes for a permanent problem: living. That sounds like poetic bullshit because it is.
I love living. I love being. I love today where I took a 45 minute nap at my desk, ate leftover Chinese food for lunch, and picked Amelia up from daycare. I loved cooking dinner while Marie was at dance auditions. Smoking made me feel when I was afraid to.
Don’t get me wrong—I love smoking. But I don’t appreciate the person I become after. The headaches, the dry mouth, the wondering (and planning) when my next drag will be. It’s nice but temporary. I realize everything is temporary, but I want to cherish things like they aren’t. Or, maybe I want to cherish them like they are.
I suppose all I want to do is care.
I love my sister, wife, daughter, mom, & dad