As most of you know, I've smoked since a very young age - even before cigarettes. My mom used to ritually set me aflame! (Just seeing if she's reading...)
Anyway, I started smoking at the ripe, old age of 17 - thanks to Tim Murphy, the bastard. I stopped for a while when I was married to Rosa but started again in earnest when we split up. At the time, I figured I had a valid reason for smoking: SELF DESTRUCTION. Hey, it might be slow but it's effective!
As things turned out, my plan for self destruction didn't work out as planned - I met Vicky - so my great reason for smoking has pretty much been snatched from my grasp... dammit.
And why do I bring this up?
Because I've decided to quit.
Yes, that's right. Quit.
Call me a quitter, craven, dastard, poltroon, recreant, yellowbelly, alarmist, baby, big baby, caitiff, chicken, chicken liver, chicken-heart, deserter, faint-of-heart, fraidy cat, funk, gutless, gutless wonder, invertebrate, jellyfish, lily-liver, malingerer, milksop, milquetoast, mollycoddle, mouse, nerd, pessimist, scaredy-cat, shirk, shirker, sissy, skulker, sneak, turkey, weak sister, weakling, white liver... I should be ashamed...
The thing is, I'm turning 40 next week. I'm no spring chicken. (As you could tell - It wasn't in the list above...) And, on top of that, Vicky and I are going to be having a baby... you know... sometime... It seems like the right time to -
WHAT AM I SAYING??????
... sorry... this ain't easy.
I have six more days to smoke...
You're bound to hear more about this later. In the meantime, who's got a cigarette???