the marlboro girl

i have had love affairs with many items. mold-a-rama, for instance, and those sugar packets with the sepia pictures of boats on them. there is one love affair, however, which will always occupy a special place in my heart and lungs. i am referring, of course, to smoking.

i know it's bad for you, and that's why i'm quitting- for real this time. this isn't like last time when i said i was quitting and then immediately went out and bought a dozen packs to hide in my closet, in my glove compartment, in my desk at work. man, i went through those "emergency" packs in record time. this time, i mean it. it's time to say good-bye.

this love affair with smoking blossomed right after high school, during a period of my life where every event had to be immortalized in a poorly written poem. i was drawn to cigarettes because of the poetic quality i percieved in them, because of the swirling smoke and the beautiful way they could dangle between two terse lips. i had an obsession with the cherry that grew bright with inhalation and dim with the release and how a dark room filled with smokers could look like a constellation of stars shining through on a foggy night. i liked ash in the breeze and a filter that grew brown with every puff, and i loved the flick of the wrist when the cigarette was discarded. maybe this is unbelievable, but this is the truth; i hated the smell of smoking and even the taste, but it was everything else that i was attracted to. i was, for a very long time, just a casual smoker; during the past two and a half years, however, i have turned into a full-fledged addict, requiring a cigarette upon that first sip of coffee in the morning and then not stopping until shortly before bedtime.

i threw up on saturday afternoon after enjoying a cigarette outside. it came up so fast i couldn't even make it to the toilet; the sink in the vanity area filled up with my blood, and while i would pause after every retch in order to catch my breath, i would only end up gagging and then puking harder. it was a low point in my day, to put it lightly. later that evening, chris and i went out with friends, and i smoked, because that's what i do. when we returned home, that familiar feeling returned, only this time, nothing would come up. i felt something hard in the back of my throat, and i kept coughing to try to force it out, but i only succeeded in sounding like a very old man. "i'm quitting," i said, and on sunday i went with a friend for a long walk around lincoln park and by the lake, breathing in the air and knowing that the love affair had to really, truly come to its end.

yesterday, the lack of cigarettes made me so fucking crabby. but now it's tuesday, and i really feel like i can do this, like i am doing this. i will miss the feel of the slim white stick between my fingers, the sound of puffing, the beauty of smoke and fire and ash. it really meant a lot to me- but i think i've finally hit the filter.