I Have A Dirty Little Secret

It Won't Be Much Longer.

I've fallen off the wagon. I'm clinging desperately to the back of the wagon and it's speeding off without me, we all know wagons don't move that fast but you get the drift, all of which reminds me of my friend falling out of her girl scout troop leader's Winnebago back in third grade. Who delivers girl scout cookies in a frickin' camper? Those were decadent times indeed, gas must have only cost a whopping 85 cents a gallon back then anyway.

Lately I've slipped. I've gone from being a militant non-smoker, to a tolerant non-smoker willing to smoke 3 or 4 cigarettes a day. Usually at the end of the day in the evening, I find myself sitting on the front porch, listening to the crickets chirp and sucking down a good old fag. What's worse is how much I enjoy doing that. I put the butt in the flower pot on the porch and move on thinking, "no one has to know." People are on to me though.

I can't hide the secret any longer, what's worse, the urges are getting stronger, I'm wanting more and more now, yet I have not bought a pack, which means not only am I falling off the wagon, I'm also becoming a huge cigarette mooch and there is just no dignity in that at all. I know where to go to get one, people see me coming and clutch their packs a little closer now. They know that not only am I going to smoke one with them, I'm going to take a couple for the road, or for the porch later that night where I can sit and enjoy my smoke in the dark with no one looking.

I'm a bad bad woman with horrid breath. The mistake was thinking I could smoke 2 or 3 harmless cigarettes a day and that would be it, but no, the beast does not work like that. It's all or nothing. My body has begun the cravings again. There is nothing else for me to do now before it's too late, but to head to Wal-Greens and buy the smallest dose of the nicotine patch and get back on the wagon, firmly. What the heck does that mean anyway? Who's wagon, and are there going to be pumpkins there? Will there be hay because when I say that I always imagine a bunch of alcoholics and drug addicts sober together on a sort of hay ride at the pumpkin patch type thing.

I have not given up, I can't let it continue though. The patch works, I will use it again. Prepare for more nutty upheaval as my mood readjusts to life without nicotine again. I know I can have fresh breath again if I only just try.