Kicking The Habit

It’s been a week since I gave up smoking,

more or less.

The occasional bummed smoke snuck through.

One while drinking.

One while playing D’n’D.

One during the big game.

I miss the quiet contemplation,

The thoughtful moments left only to the smoker.

Exposed to the elements

and solitude,

five minutes of uninterrupted time to the self.

I miss the light conversation with other smokers

gradually gaining weight.

The talk about the weather,

or good television,

or politics;

A veritable salon of knowledge,

high and low.

So I regret kicking the habit,

at least a little bit.

I guess I could just take time for myself,

or engage in conversation sans pretense,

but it just won’t be the same.

There’s something about slowly embracing a wheezing, out-of-breath death

that puts everything in its proper place.