Three Months Down - The Rest of My Life to Go.

I'm celebrating three months being smoke-free. Yeah!! I still miss smoking sometimes, like right now as I type this, but it keeps getting easier. I probably only think about smoking once a day, if that. The toughest time besides immediately following my quit date was when I lost my purse. The desire for a cigarette was intense and palpable. One of the guys from work gave me a ride home that night and offered me some cash to tide me over until I got things worked out with my bank account, I turned him down. I knew the way I was feeling that night I would have walked down to the corner store and bought myself a pack.

I thought I would continue with my story of my smoking history. I'm not sure I'll get very far. This bug I have is kicking my butt. If I'm still feeling this wiped out tomorrow, I might call my doctor for some antibiotics. I think it's turned infectious in my lungs. Speaking of lungs...

I became a true blue smoker when I was seventeen and stationed at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. I was going through Basic Training at the time. It was probably the second or third week of training. The drill sergeants had just hoofed us out to one of the ranges for some kind of training. They released us from formation for a break on the bleachers near by. The call "Smoke 'em if you got 'em" went out. The smokers lit up and the rest of us sat around chatting with each other, enjoying the respite after a long haul. A drill sergeant walks up and says "Who here doesn't smoke?" Those of us who were non-smokers raised our hands. He said, "I've got a detail for you. Follow me." My momma didn't raise a fool. You can bet the next time that question was asked I had a cigarette in my hand! Although, that idea seems quite foolish now.

It's kind of ironic because one of the worst details, in my opinion, to be called for was to police for cigarette butts. Oh how I hated picking up all those nasty butts, so much so that I still wouldn't throw a butt on the ground to this day. I would field strip** it and put the nasty smelling butt in my purse before I would throw it on the ground. Besides that, those blasted things take something like a million years to decompose.

**Field Strip-Twist the end of the cigarette back and forth so that the lit cherry and remaining tobacco falls out to the ground leaving just the papered filter in your hand, being sure to use your foot to stomp out the burning ember of the cherry.

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