On Smoking
Smoking is one of the stupidest things that you can possibly do. The high is fleeting, not even lasting as long as the cigarette does. And you know it's bad for you. You know that every single drag is one step closer to cancer, that each cigarette is taking away a part of your life. But you don't stop. You can't stop.

People have asked me why, and I decided that it's a question that needs to be answered.

The reason is very simple.

It's a high. It's an incredible high. It's possibly the smoothest high in the world. It takes you to another place, where all your worries fade away, in a puff of smoke.

The cigarette is the friend you've always had, the one who's with you when things are good, who sticks with you through the bad times, who gives you comfort, who gives you happiness, heck, who gives you pleasure.

Each drag, the flavour of tobacco rolling over your tongue the soft smoky caress reaching down inside you and filling you up, is a communion with God, a reaffirmation of faith, a reason for being.

Some people tell me that after they quit the temptation to smoke lasted only for a week. Liars. Or fools, who have only half glimpsed the majestic beauty of the sweet sweet release granted by a single puff.

The high goes away, quickly, and the law of diminishing returns is there. If you can space it out, each puff is ecstasy. If you rush it, then the others are just to keep you from going down. But lay off, cut down from your regular routine, just have one cigarette less and then the next one you have delivers an even bigger punch.

Face it you're addicted. You're a hopeless soul, whose mental well being is dependent on something that will, steadily, relentlessly, definitely, kill you. Enjoy the ride.

But you know, I still haven't answered the question of what made me smoke the second time round. After being good for two years, surely I didn't feel the need for cigarettes.

Well, I didn't. I never did, actually, except for in one or two cases, which even now scare me. Smoking because I crave the high is one thing, but smoking because I simply had to, scared me. That's the kind of smoking that makes it completely impossible to quit, which I tell everyone they should. Quit that is.

Because you see, even when I was smoking more than twenty cigarettes in a day, I was enjoying the high. It'd grip my brain, and squeeze. My entire body felt more alive, more, well, just more really. I felt lighter than ever, and it felt like all my problems could be solved. I could do whatever I wanted to.

So imagine, if you will, dear reader, living with people who smoke. Constantly and consistently. You've quit by now, for two years, and it's not been too bad. You don't really get any smoking pangs. Only, sometimes, when you're sitting around idle, the idea gets into your head. And refuses to go away, refuses to let you think of anything but cigarettes. But like I said, that only happens when you have nothing to do.

Now imagine, dear reader, that your roomies are not in the house. But one of them has left his pack of cigarettes lying around. They're good cigarettes. Smooth. Not your old brand, but in the same class. Slightly better, in fact.

Oh what the hell. You pick up one cigarette. Nobody's there. Who'll know. You can have one then go back to being a non-smoker. Nobody knows you used to smoke. Have at it boy.

Strike the match. Light it up. Take a drag. Take a deep deep velvet smooth drag the darkness is closing in the world is complete again and you feel so so so very good it's beyond words the feeling you get the high is unbelievable was it always that good of course it was and you're lost again.

And that in a nutshell, was how I returned to smoking after a two year break. And why it's so hard for people to quit, and why cigarettes are the one thing that I still lecture people about.

Something funny next time around,
Adios,
-G!