As our most greedy and gluttonous of holidays creeps ever closer, only one thing seems to be running through my mind: I picked a really dumb time to quit smoking. The stress of Christmas is increasing as the day nears. All I want is a nice, tasty Camel Light. Ah, sweet nicotine, how I've missed you this past month since I left you for pinker lungs. I really should've written down the day I quit, so I can have a monthly anniversary. I think it was November 20. I miss the stress-relief smoking provided. However, I don't miss the stinky breath, the stinky hair, the random burns because I'm clumsy, or the general shitty feeling I had when I was smoking. I don't miss getting smoke up my nostrils or in my eye when lighting up, nor do I miss having the smell stay on my hands long after I put the cigarette out. What I don't miss clearly outweighs what I do miss, so I know it's been a good thing. But sometimes all I really want to do is have a smoke.
Anyhoodle, back to Christmas bullshit. I can't wait til it's all over and I can relax. I daresay, it's driving me completely mad. I must read go read other blogs that are much more amusing than this one. Of course, it won't make this post any longer than the meager few sentence it is, but it will distract me from my Yuletide issues. Goddamn, I hate Christmas.