change of seasons

I have smoked on and off since the 3d grade. I watched my dad's body deteriorate into painful non-existence. My 2d cousin died from lung cancer (although no one in the family had the decency to seek me out during his last year). My grandfather had a heart attack - smoked right up until the artery put up the "closed for renovation" sign. Was probably taking a drag at the very moment when he uttered "ouch" and then went "thump." He said that as he lay in the hospital he reached for his pack in the nightstand (weren't the 1960s great?). Mid-flight he recalls thinking, "If I smoke that cigarette, I will die." He never touched one again.

I have had extensive periods in my life when I did not smoke - years at a clip. And each and every time I can point to a reason: I do not smoke because of ...

Eventually that reason would go away. Everything in my life has gone away by many standards. Inevitably, some drama would hit my life.

Drama in front of me + No reason not to = Smoke.

I've grown tired of smoking. Then grew tired of being tired. I have smoked because it ensures that I have at least some control in my life, that being the mode and accelerated timing of my death - it may be slower than a speeding bullet, but is equally effective. I have smoked because it has kept people at a distance, classified me as "one of them." I have smoked because I am coal trash and nothing better or different is expected of me.

I finally, through all my life and all the lost people, I finally found the two reasons - each sufficient onto itself - to walk from smoking and never look back. One reason has been in front of me the whole time, I've just been too arrogant to see it. No, I won't discuss either.

I'm going for a run this morning. This oughta be ugly.