Oh, and...
I haven't smoked a cigarette in nine, almost ten months. It has actually not been quiiiiite as difficult as I had originally thought, mainly because even though I frequently want cigarettes, I always realize that if I actually tried to smoke, it'd probably be really gross, anyway, because I've lost the taste for it.
But, JESUS, today I went into the Golden Pantry on Prince Avenue to pay for gas, which is right by where I used to live with Stephanie on Pulaski. I ALWAYS went to that gas station for cigarettes; like, almost every night before I would go out to a show or a party or what-have-you.
Smell is supposedly our strongest sense memory, and I think it's actually particularly strong for me. Familiar smells will take me back to things I didn't even know I remembered. It's fucking crazy and awesome.
I digress, though. The point being, when I walked into the Prince Avenue Golden Pantry, the smell of that gas station took me back to four years ago. Suddenly, I could see myself wearing my pink pointy high heels and a short skirt and that green Elvis tshirt, and probably headed to see Just These Dudes at Last Call, and I have not wanted a cigarette that badly since I quit. I mean... I just wanted to feel the filter between my fingers, and hear the click of the lighter. Hell, I almost bought a pack just so I could hold the little pack in my hand. Oh, my god. This is sick and twisted, how obsessive this whole experience was, but it's true.
Why can't cigarettes be, like... vitamins, instead of carcinogens?
But, JESUS, today I went into the Golden Pantry on Prince Avenue to pay for gas, which is right by where I used to live with Stephanie on Pulaski. I ALWAYS went to that gas station for cigarettes; like, almost every night before I would go out to a show or a party or what-have-you.
Smell is supposedly our strongest sense memory, and I think it's actually particularly strong for me. Familiar smells will take me back to things I didn't even know I remembered. It's fucking crazy and awesome.
I digress, though. The point being, when I walked into the Prince Avenue Golden Pantry, the smell of that gas station took me back to four years ago. Suddenly, I could see myself wearing my pink pointy high heels and a short skirt and that green Elvis tshirt, and probably headed to see Just These Dudes at Last Call, and I have not wanted a cigarette that badly since I quit. I mean... I just wanted to feel the filter between my fingers, and hear the click of the lighter. Hell, I almost bought a pack just so I could hold the little pack in my hand. Oh, my god. This is sick and twisted, how obsessive this whole experience was, but it's true.
Why can't cigarettes be, like... vitamins, instead of carcinogens?