1998 november 24

up in smoke

today, as i was dressing, i noticed the letters f t l were woven into the elastic band of my underwear. i have had these underwear, and many other pairs like them, for months and yet i just noticed this. but i digress. obviously it stands for fruit of the loom but what the hell is the t doing in there? you don't use the when acronymizing!! they left out the o for of and rightly so, but left in the the?

it's the little things that make me crazy.

we have been having a beautiful autumn. the past week has been filled with crisp cool clear days that just scream picture postcards. it has also apparently been screaming to people, "rake your yards! sweep your walks!" because there was nary a loose leaf to be seen on the walk into the office this morning. honestly, it was a bit eerie; things should just not be that neat and clean unless you are on a soundstage or movieset. what made everything just a little eerier was the flyer from a psychic named lisa that was suddenly blown into my face from out of nowhere. not another piece of paper in sight, not another breeze after that.

it is almost enough to make me call.

i just realized i never talked about the great american smokeout last thursday. for those of you who have not lived through this little propaganda peer pressure campaign, it is a day designated as smokefree -- all smokers are supposed to give it the old college try and remain cigarette free for this one day in the hopes they will see the light and quit the evil weed forever.

i started smoking regularly at 16 during my first year of college but have never been more than a halfpack a day girl. yes, i know that smoking is bad for me. no, i didn't need the government telling me; every child with a brain can tell you that inhaling smoke, of any kind, cannot possibly be a good thing. unlike many smokers, i do not believe myself to be addicted. of course we have previously determined that i have a delusional streak but in this instance, i still believe i am right. several years ago, when i became engaged to be married, i quit. just put the pack down and never thought about it. when we broke up, i started again, mostly as a fuckyou gesture to the exfiance but also because i just plain like to smoke. i like holding the cigarette, i like the feel of it in my mouth, i like the taste.

these days i usually smoke only two or three a day. one on the way home from work [this one is completely optional and fairly rare of late], one after dinner [also optional but usual] and one right before i turn off the light and go to bed [required, i do so like rituals associated with sleep]. the only place i feel compulsed to chain smoke anymore is denny's and as i try to avoid denny's like the plague [no one ever goes to denny's, you just end up there] there have not been a lot of chainsmoking incidents in the past five years.

but back to the great american smokeout. i do not like someone telling me what to do. i do not like the smug selfrighteousness of nonsmokers who feel free to attack smokers who are not currently invading anyone else's airspace. i think that the desire to continue with socially unacceptable behaviour is a contributing factor to my smoker status. so on november 18th, as on every great american smokeout, i went out and splurged on imported cigarettes [hb from germany, my faves along with dunhills] and i smoked and i smoked and i smoked.

and you know what? i liked it.

wishing she were smoking in her underwear and talking to a psychic rather than working on a tuesday, claire