If I Was A Liberal, This Would Be Bush's Fault
My wife is still on the wagon. I fell off about an hour ago.
I lit my first cigarette during the Gulf War. I was not dealing well with being in a warzone, and a female soldier, whom I had taken a liking to, offered it to me.
What can I say? I took it.
I regret it immensely to this day, even as I write this with a Marlboro balanced on the edge of the ashtray, basking smugly in its conquest over me.
Ever since I woke up this morning at about 7:00am, in order to get my kid to school, I have been a raving lunatic. (Yes, my kid got to school quite safely, thank you.)
I put a hole in the screen in front of my sliding glass door because it wouldn't open. The little wheels had skipped off the rail they customarily rode on. (Thankfully, the glass door was open at the time.)
I tripped over the cat this morning, and almost kicked it down the hall. (It is a rather long hall.)
I then went down to the city building to pay the water bill (mumblegrumblerassinfrassingoddamnvampires) and spent the next hour-and-a-half driving around, fighting with the urge to buy a pack and put an end to it, and almost tore the turn signal off the steering column because, for some reason, it refused to stay in place when I went to make a left.
I then came home and, to have something to do with all this nervous energy (I was practically HUMMING with it at this point), I mowed the back yard for a while (I had to stop about three strips away from being finished because I had started actually feeling sick to my stomach) and then went inside and did some dishes (I very nearly broke four of them).
It was when I actually started feeling like I was turning green that I made the decision that I did not want to be in this state when my son came home from school. His class went on a field trip to the zoo today, and he will no doubt be in a great mood when he comes home, and I do not want to spoil that by snapping his head off at the first annoying sound he makes (he LOVES ducks, and has a habit of quacking incessantly to himself when he's happy).
So I went back out, got a pack of smokes, came home, lit up, and started typing this post.
In the past fifteen minutes, I have summarily executed five of them.
I feel MUCH better now....and yet, I don't.
Cigarettes killed my father, and deprived my son of the experience of growing up with a granddad.
I will try again tomorrow. Hopefully by then, I will have stopped feeling like David Banner ten minutes after "getting angry".