Cigarettes

Smoking is a tricky thing. I just spent the past 20 minutes writing a history about my involvement with it, and I've now realized that my long discourse on smoking is just another manifestation of the addiction.

Anyways, instead of reading all that information below, let me spell it out for you short and sweet: I'm trying to quit. One thing I would like to use to help me quit is a smoke-tracker on my blog. At the end of each entry, I'll post a number that will let you know how many smokes I've had since the previous entry. I think it's a simple, effective way to keep me accountable to those who love and care for me. Also, it's kind of like a contest, and I, for one, have always enjoyed contests. So, at the end of every entry, look for that number standing all by itself, and either rejoice with me in my victory, or weep with me in my defeat.

Yeah, there's a short history of me and smoking below. I wouldn't bother reading it unless you're really intrigued. It's the same story every smoker tells, nothing new about it.

A Short Discourse on the History of My Smoking
As a kid, I was always admonished to never start smoking. When I became a teenager, the idea that smoking was a bad idea was constantly enforced and strengthened in my mind. I constantly came in contact with people (both young and old) who would stress to me just how much they wish that they'd never started. I readily believed their warnings, and took what they said to heart.

By the time I had turned 20, it seemed that all my friends (aside from my friends from church) smoked. My brother and his friends smoked. My friends from high school smoked, and my friends in college smoked. People I worked with smoked.

I think the first cigarette I ever tried was when I was hanging out with some old high school friends. I was trying to prove the point that I wasn't scared of the cigarette, but of the addiction.

It wasn't until a year later that I really saw the beauty of smoking. A friend and I were hiking Mt. Lemmon, and the conversation turned to smoking. I talked about how I'd tried it out but that I didn't really want any part of it. Besides, it did nothing for me. "Well, that's cause you're not really inhaling," he said. He pulled out a cigarette and handed it to me. I lit it up, and sure enough, he was right. For the first time in my life, I inhaled a cigarette, and it rocked my world. I felt a buzz that was powerful, friendly, invigorating, and peaceful - all at once.

Shortly after, I started my junior year at the U of A and began pursuing a degree in Creative Writing.
(Sidenote: If you want to meet smokers, don't major in Computer Science, or Biology, or Education. No, if you want to meet smokers, major in Creative Writing. There must be something about the degree being a desperate last resort for those who have little idea of what to do with their lives that brings out the addict in them.)
In short, I had easy access to that which would encourage my budding habit, and I indulged myself, a little at a time.

I was scared of the addiction, but I really believed that I could play with the fire without getting burned. So, throughout college, I demanded moderation from myself. I had a set number of smokes in my mind that I could have in a given month, and a set number of days when I could not smoke, which I painstakingly stuck to month after month. However, by the end of college I was hooked, and I began to loosen my reign on the limits I had previously set. I lived with smokers, and even though I would try to restrain myself, my self-control had deteriorated a long time before. Within a year though, I decided it was finally time to stop. I'd had my fun, gotten burned, and it was time to move on.

And so I did. But, just as I had 'off and on' smoked during the preceding years, it became gradually evident that I was now 'off and on' quitting. So far, I've had periods of two weeks when I haven't smoked; I've also had periods when I've smoked every day.