Fag Love

I have one cigarette left in a pack of Marlboros I bought last week. I'm going to make it my last. For now.

I've smoked off and on since college. The habit kicks in again during stressful times, and the last year has been a stressful time.

It's a nasty habit. I hate the way it makes my hands smell. I hate the way my mouth tastes when I'm done. I hate the way I can't breath when I'm biking up the hill to my house.

I hide it. I don't want my kids thinking it's okay. If I've learned anything about parenting, it's that they'll do what I do, not what I say. So I hide it. When they're engrossed in t.v., I sneak out to the front of the house and light up. I sit where they can't see me if they run outside looking for me and I can put it out before they find me. My neighbors must think I've lost my mind.

My favorite smoke is the last one before I go to bed. I like the first one in the morning, too. The ones in between make me feel enslaved.

I want to be around long enough to enjoy grandchildren, so tomorrow, after I get to work and have some coffee, I'm going to smoke the last one and then go cold turkey. And we'll see how that goes.