(no subject)
i recently started smoking again, and it has been the strangest experience. the things with which we define ourselves are sometimes startling. i often find them to be something quite obvious that i never previously recognized as such. i'm a bit dense, i guess. in the last four years or so that i have not smoked i've always been offended when people assume i never did. "you just don't seem like a smoker" they would say. and i guess it bothered me because i identified myself as a smoker who just didn't smoke.
when i was sixteen i was a camp counselor in ky. my friend megan and i would run off into the woods and sit on a log, smoking camel lights. i used to smell my hands for hours afterwords because i loved the stale cigarette smell. i loved kissing men who tasted like cigarettes, too. i remember thinking that their mouths actually tasted like the color brown - bittersweet and musty.
on my weekends off i used to sit outside twice told (a coffee shop, which i have heard is now defunct) in louisville, baiting the christian kids with a cigarette. they always came up to me, offering the "comfort of the word of god." i can't blame them, now, when i realize that i must have looked homeless. we didn't shower much at that job. the water was cold, for one, and that summer there was a rabid raccoon wandering around in our unit. it had a fondness for the showers. once it wandered in and i had to get all of the campers to stand in the sink until it moseyed off.
in later years i used to drive around kentucky and smoke to clear my head. once, on my seventeenth birthday, i drove all the way through ohio to the michigan border and turned around. the next weekend my mother was cleaning my car as a birthday present and came up to my room with the butt filled ashtray. "do you want to keep these for DNA testing, or should i throw them out?" she asked.
when i was sixteen i was a camp counselor in ky. my friend megan and i would run off into the woods and sit on a log, smoking camel lights. i used to smell my hands for hours afterwords because i loved the stale cigarette smell. i loved kissing men who tasted like cigarettes, too. i remember thinking that their mouths actually tasted like the color brown - bittersweet and musty.
on my weekends off i used to sit outside twice told (a coffee shop, which i have heard is now defunct) in louisville, baiting the christian kids with a cigarette. they always came up to me, offering the "comfort of the word of god." i can't blame them, now, when i realize that i must have looked homeless. we didn't shower much at that job. the water was cold, for one, and that summer there was a rabid raccoon wandering around in our unit. it had a fondness for the showers. once it wandered in and i had to get all of the campers to stand in the sink until it moseyed off.
in later years i used to drive around kentucky and smoke to clear my head. once, on my seventeenth birthday, i drove all the way through ohio to the michigan border and turned around. the next weekend my mother was cleaning my car as a birthday present and came up to my room with the butt filled ashtray. "do you want to keep these for DNA testing, or should i throw them out?" she asked.