Organic Dementia #6: Smoking Section

Sometimes you go to bed one night and then wake up eight days later wondering what the hell happened. It’s been one of those weeks for me. I sat down after work last night, curious as to how the last few days had managed to get away from me like that. After some thought (and a couple beers), I think I put my finger on it.

This week did suck…righteously. Money’s a little tight and I had a short run of bad luck at work. I’ve been waiting tables long enough at this point to know that things like that happen. It’s not anybody’s fault. It just happens. Sometimes your tables don’t spend the money you expect or you get lots of two tops instead of four tops or large parties that book for fifteen people only have ten show up. Like I said, it happens and if your restaurant is worth it’s salt then it’ll balance out. Oi vey, did we ever balance out last night. Sixteen hours removed from the shift and my feet still hurt.

So (for those of you that don’t know me personally) my dirty, dirty little secret regarding all this healthy living talk is that I’m a smoker. I have been since I was sixteen. My days as one have been numbered for a while now, especially as my thirtieth birthday starts to loom. I know that smokers are always saying that they want to quit or they will quit when they’re ready or they’re cutting back or whatever. This isn’t me making a big sweeping announcement saying “GOOD EVENING WORLD!!! I’M QUITTING SMOKING!! FUCK YOU PHILLIP MORRIS!!!” It’s just me wondering about the realities of quitting and knowing in my heart that it’s coming.

Some small part of me has always felt that my identity as a person was defined in part by the fact that I smoke. People expect it of me. I’ve been vocal about my right to do so in the past. Before I moved from Lexington, I based my vote in a mayoral election around the issue of a public smoking ban. I know it sounds dumb but I used to wonder, if I wasn’t a smoker, who would I be?

Ridiculous, right? I hear you. I’m not worried about that anymore. I think I’ve got enough going on that an identity crisis is the least of my concerns. So with that out of the way, the logistics of stopping have started to come up.

There’s nothing organic, environmentally safe or healthy about smoking. It goes against everything I’ve been working toward in the last month. Last Thursday, right about the time I started thinking about it along those lines, a funny thing happened. I ran out of cigarettes. It was a little after midnight and I was really tired so I just decided not to run to the store.

Next day I thought I’d try something. It wasn’t intended as a method of quitting. I’ve changed a lot in the last few weeks and I thought I’d give the food thing a little time then move on to quitting smoking. So I went to a tobacco store and picked up a pouch of American Spirit’s loose leaf, organic blend. I’ve known how to roll my own cigarettes for years. One of those not at all useful skills I picked up a while back. I thought that maybe if I went this route for a while, I’d get used to it and then at least I’d still be on the organic track. Who knows, it might even slow me down, right?

It was dreadful. Four days of it and those things damn near killed me. Strong tobacco, no filter, ouch. At the end of day three, I hacked up both my lungs, re-attached them and decided to reverse course the next day.

What I didn’t realize was that it really did slow me down. So much so that it took me four days (ending with last night) to get through my next two packs. When you roll your own cigarettes, you have to plan out when you’re gonna smoke. Without realizing it, I’d stopped smoking in the car. I would only have one during my shift at work. I couldn’t smoke throughout my writing time. During those four day I only had maybe five or six each day.

I also noticed for the first time what smoking all these years has done to me. That constant feeling like my sinuses were clogged started to clear. My voice sounded a little smoother. My throat didn’t hurt at all. I especially noticed it while singing. I won't say that I really play the guitar. I hit the strings with a little piece of plastic and sometimes noises come out. I harbor no delusions whatsoever about being much of a singer but I do sing along when I play. This is not something I do around other people and I feel bad for my neighbors. That said, my voice doesn't seem to wear out as easily and I can get things out louder and clearer then before. It doesn't sound quite so nasal either.

I realize that all this may seem retarded to you non-smokers but gimme a break, I’ve been at this (literally) my entire adult life. On another note, I always assumed that coffee went naturally with cigarettes but (surprise, surprise) my coffee tastes a hell of a lot better when I don’t smoke so damn much with it.

Let me re-iterate that I have not quit. Yet. The important thing for me is that I have a clearer sort of picture as to what my life will be like when I do quit and that’s huge. I know that the end result will be really cool. I also know that the road there is gonna be a little bumpy but not too bad. What I figured out last night as I was going to bed is that I’ve probably been a little cranky and out of it this week because I had cut back so much on smokes. I went from somewhere between one and two packs a day to about half a pack a day in less then a week. That’s a significant cut back on nicotine, which is good, but my system needed some time to adjust.

So that’s where I’ve been. I do apologize for not posting but as crappy a week as this was, it was a big step in a lot of ways. I was grumpy and tired and I had some trouble sleeping but I still cooked every single night. I didn’t break or even get tempted to eat fast food or burgers or red meat or anything. I am right where I wanted to be despite life throwing me a couple of curve balls. I also took the first tiny, tiny step towards dropping my nastiest habit.

I hope the week’s been good to everyone and I should be back to regular posting this week. There’s lots more to tell. Until then, take care!


"The poets tell how Pancho fell and Lefty's living in cheap hotels. The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold, so the story ends we're told." - Townes Van Zandt