Previously, I was what you’d call an irregular smoker. I know that concept is usually linked to phrases like “I’m a social smoker,” or “I only ever smoke when I drink,” and they generally are ways of making yourself sound like you smoke far less than you do. In all honesty though, I would smoke a pack over a week, not smoke for four months, then smoke half a pack over three days, and not smoke again for six months. Still obviously a bad decision, but I actually could stop at any time.
But, that was then. Things changed. I started working with more smokers. I became friends with more smokers. I began living with a smoker, followed by another, followed by another. Then my boss was a smoker, and the boss after that, and the boss after that. I found myself smoking more and more. Then suddenly it hit me: I was a smoker. I craved them. I struggled with not smoking. It happened. I tried to quit and failed. Multiple times.
I’ve come down with a rather bad cold, which has hung on for nearly a month now. I was thinking about how awful I felt yesterday, and finally realised an absurdity in the process; I was thinking about how I felt terrible while smoking.
Seriously. How dumb can I be? What did I expect? Gah.
So, I’ve written a list.
The darling wife added one for me. I concurred.
So, here it is. No more excuses. Just painfully clear reasons.