Smoky Smokerson

Smoky smokerson, a name I call the smokers. To me, smoking is simply disgusting. Yuck! I have always been swift to express my utter disgust and loathing whenever I see people smoke. I would give them that ‘you-bloody-idiot-suicidal-fuckwit-dragging-us-non-smokers-down-with-you-while-you-slowly-burn-your-sorry-ass-to-death’ dirty look. I would tell them to their face:” You are super duper disgusting!”

Ironically, I have too always maintained that I’m a social smoker. I smoke after having a couple of stiff ones, as it slows down my imbibing rate. I smoke after dancing so I won’t look stupid standing around. I smoke while I’m on vacation. Hey, I am on vacation! But these occasions are somewhat rare. It’s ok to indulge once in a while. I’m all right.

Until lately, I’m afraid I'm turning into a disgusting smoky smokerson. Whenever I see anyone lighting one up, instead of the caustic tongue and the dirty look, I am actually thinking of lighting one up myself! Oh damn, I am addicted!

But how?

No stress at work. No strain from relationship. I’m not trying to look cool. I don’t have that much money to burn. It does not get me high.

What exactly is it then?

Or have I lost all my senses? Have I lost my self-control? Have I succumbed to peer pressure? Have I finally surrendered to the tobacco devil?

Boredom!

It was boredom that drove me to do something new, somewhat new to me.
I was relocated to the big city for work and have been putting up in a hotel for the past 2 months. After the gym, the bar, the TV and the books, after the luxury of the posh hotel wore off, I found myself returning to a sterile and artificial room every evening. It’s not homely. It’s cold. There is not much to do. I’m bored to the core.

“Ahhhh… Why not go for a puff?”

So I started off buying a pack, smoking one at the hotel lobby (I specifically requested to stay in a non-smoking room).

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Ahhhh… Kill time? Yes, those 5 long minutes. That got my fix of doing something different. I did not even finish the pack. They turned stale and I binned them.
I was doing ok, before I knew it I got another pack of fags, unknowingly, innocently. Now the urge of lighting up is getting ever stronger!

In the past I couldn’t comprehend how those smoky smokersons got started on this disgusting habit or how they continue doing it. Bad breaths, smelly fingers, yellow teeth, ashtray lips, not to mention high cost.

Perhaps it’s just as innocently and as easily. Just for fun, we simply dig a hole without realizing how deep, how easy and how fast we are going. In split seconds, we effortlessly dig into a hole that is way too deep. We can’t climb out by our own. We then tell ourselves that there’s no turning back and convince ourselves to keep digging.

Caution: six feet under isn’t that deep!

Good thing I was not in that deep and I managed to climb out on my own.

Phew, close call!