i’m sorry to drag you nice people through this with me (again), but i really have to write about it.
it’s been thirty-six hours, give or take, since i’ve had a cigarette. that’s the longest i’ve gone in awhile, even the day i was in the e.r. for the asthma. yeah. i know. anyway, this conversation, this morning:
me: how many cigarettes do we have left?
him: [comes into kitchen, tosses pack on computer table]
me: why are you doing that to me?
him: [takes back the pack]
me: what’s in there?
him: [opens pack so i can see] it’s the last cigarette.
me: i haven’t had a cigarette in 36 hours.
him: well, this is the last one. either you smoke it or i will. we aren’t buying any more.
everything went all fuzzy after that.
this is not what i had in mind. not commitments or even declarations of intent, and certainly not a pact. no. i was just procrastinating it. i was going to get to it eventually.
oh. i let him have that last one. i don’t like that kind anyway.
i’m not really quitting. those little vanilla cigar type things that come in the plastic tubes? i’m going to smoke those outside on the back porch when i have beers on the weekends. that’s the plan, k?
oh, and i wanted you to notice — how i asked a non-specific question designed to elicit a cigarette from him, and when it worked, i got all fussy about it. that’s just life with me.