Now that don't kill me can only make me stronger.

[dollhouselush]

i remember when i used to smoke. and i smoked 100's. because i wanted them to last, i wanted to savor and love and cherish them. and i hid them from my parents, from [most] people i truly respected; i hid them from my husband when i had decided i wanted to date him -- long before we first spoke; i would only smoke about 3/4 of each one, would leave a good section left. now, when i smoke, it's like i really need it. and i only smoke every so often but i smoke regulars; i smoke to the filter; but when i smoke, i still hide them from corey. what does that say about me; really? are cigarettes themselve the entire metaphor for all my bad habits of which i am ashamed? or are they just guilty pleasures i don't want to share, the one last thing i want to keep truly intimate with myself?

look at me, getting all philosophical on chardonnay.