i just smoked a cigarette

I just smoked a cigarette.

I’m not generally a smoker anymore.  When I first went to college I could smoke a pack a day or more, hanging out with friends, having deep, intellectual college conversations, a habit that now seems ancient and harsh. I usually only smoke when I drink, which is not as often lately.  But when I drink I can easily snub out a pack.  Its like silky airy that fills my lungs with fabulousness.  Usually I don’t even dream of smoking with out drinking.  Or drinking with out smoking, for that matter.  But just to have a cigarette, in the middle of the day, makes me nauseously light-headed. 

But today, just now, my reasoning was: I’m a journalist.  Working on a story.  And not one goddamn person is calling me back.  So what do journalists do when they are breaking the big story?  They chain smoke and talk about the heavy consequences of whatever issue they are writing about.  No one is calling me.  I just finished a book in which the main character constantly smokes.  That made me want to smoke, so I searched out the little white and blue box of Parliaments Lights I remember seeing, poking out from a pile of clean laundry on my floor.  Three of the four cigarettes left were broken, but that golden fourth, that one was still in tact.  I didn’t even finish it. 

Smoking always seems so much more glamorous, until you’re actually doing it.  Whenever I see people smoking in movies or read about them in books, it makes me want to just go buy a pack and smoke until my ashtray is full and I feel as cool as Humphrey Boghart. 

This happens a lot whenever I see a Winona Rider movie.  That bitch can smoke.  Reality Bites. That is a smoking heaven.  Everyone just smokes in their tiny apartment, like they have casino style air purifiers that just grab all that stench and sucks it up through the ceiling and out of hidden vents.  My apartment now has no ventilation or room for smoke to go.  You smoke one cigarette with at one end of the apartment with half your body hanging out the window and the wind in your favor and you can still smell it in the rest of the place for the rest of the night. Even when I lived in a town house it seemed like the smoke just sat with me.  Just me and my cloud of smoke.

Or in Girl Interrupted, when Wino is in her psychiatrists office and she drifts off and all of a sudden the unfallen ash on her cigarette is like an inch long.  Orgasm.  I’ve tried to do that. Its harder than it looks. They must have used some fancy CGI effects or some shit.

So I just smoked a cigarette.  Well, three quarters of one.  But now my mouth is dry, tasting like burnt marshmallows, with out the sweetness, and my fingers stink and I don’t even have a drink in my hand.

            I wish someone would fuckin’ call me back.

December 12, 2007. Me Me Me!.

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