The thing I hate most about quitting the old coffin nails is that the moment my brain drops into neutral, the ‘Light Me’ lamp begins to pulsate in my head. It’s like I can’t have a slack moment of nothingness where I can just stare at the wall or consider why there is air or contemplate what the next sentence is going to be. Instead, I have to shift into ‘fight off the urge’ mode which isn’t a terribly restful, or enjoyable, mode to be in.

And you can save your ‘Go EJ!’ ra-ras cause it ain’t like I really want to quit cigarettes. I enjoy my Nat Shermans. Nice clean tobacco without all the crappy additives, a light taste of mint, what’s not to like? And I’m not quiting because of the alleged health issues? Hell, if I were that concerned about health issues, I’d have to give up everything I eat, drink and breathe. Have you read the ingredients on the things you eat and drink lately? You damn near need a chemical dictionary to figure out what you stuffing down your throat. And what the hell is with all that high fructose corn syrup anyway? It’s in every damn thing on the shelf. What the hell is wrong with good old sugar? And salt! Do they even put salt in food anymore?

And what about the quality of the air you breathe? Planes, trains and automobiles oh my. I’d rather spend a day in a room full of smokers than an hour walking down any major thoroughfare. Nah, any health issues associated with cigarettes don’t bother me. Everything kills ya.

So, why am I quiting? Well, I hate to say it but Uncle Sam’s the cause. This last tax hike has just pushed the price way out of my range. Eight plus bucks for a pack of Nat’s finest? Sorry, but I don’t think so. And I’m damned if I’ll smoke those additive-ridden cheap things. Those additives are gonna kill ya faster than the tar and nicotine will. What with all these price hikes, it’s gotten to the point where the Nicoderm patch is cheaper so I guess I’ll just smoke through my skin.

Not that the patch isn’t a real pain in the nether regions itself. I have to go that route cause the gum is even worse. A taste like old sweat-socks. Pop one or two of those between the old teeth and my stomach begins to do flip-flops. The patch only makes my skin itch, my muscles ache, my ears ring and plays havoc with sleep. Can’t complain too much about the dreams, though. Like taking acid in your sleep. Weird and colorful.

It’s a damn good thing I haven’t turned into one of those snarling, craving beasts ready to snap the head off anything that comes too close. A real bitch bitch bitch, complain complain complain, kill kill kill, can’t find a good thing to say about anything kind of guy. Don’t ya just hate it when someone gets like that?

Oh, and you know another thing I hate about quitting? I hate that most everything stinks. Do you Nicotine Nazis actually get used to this smell? Yuck. I’m going to have to start carrying a nosegay or something. Won’t that do wonders for my image. As it is, I find myself following smokers cause, you know, that smoke sure does smell fine.

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