Smoke 'em if You Got 'em
Admittedly, it is an odd thing to light up a cheap cigar on the eve of a funeral for a woman who died of cancer. The irony alone is almost worth the experience, even though that is not at all why I partook in the vice this evening. Instead, I was after peace of mind, an unquestionable value however elusive it may be. Paradoxically, It's the kind of thing worth dying for, which proved justification enough for tonight's indulgence. Absent the gym, or a game, or a classroom - my preferred sanctuaries all - I leaned on tobacco to ease the long day's disappointment. John Middleton never lets me down.
I sometimes ask myself what it would take to make me truly happy. Actually, I entertain the question so often that the answers are almost self-evident at this point, and the whole exercise has begun to feel rehearsed. While I don't ponder quite like I used to, I have generated new and improved ways of ensuring that I never win. Having pretty well identified happiness' components, I've elevated my complaints to new heights. These days, I assure myself that the desires - my desires - are silly, or foolish, or otherwise immature. "Beneath me" is the common thread.
And if that doesn't work and these desires end up asserting themselves as goods of the highest order, then there's always the discomfort of knowing that they will never be satisfied. I think it'll take a more expensive cigar to assure me that this isn't the case.