smoking

I want a cigarette. Bad. I can picture myself walking to the corner store and getting a pack of Marlboro Lights - hardpack preferred - and that first inhalation with headrush.

It's been years. I don't remember the last time I even had a drag off somebody else's. Fairbanks, with the boyfriend too old and too bad for me? Seven years ago? Earlier? I remember living with Susan so many years ago, keeping a pack in a drawer for the just-in-case moments. I do not remember when I threw the last pack away.

Truth is, I've never been a smoker. I smoke like I eat ice cream - sometimes, with a craving. Never habitually.

I bought ice cream tonight. Ben and Jerry's pint. The cashier was far too chatty. If I wanted to conversate, I would have called a friend, not stood in a too-long line at Stater Bros. Sabine loves this southern California friendliness, but I find it too often so fake as to nauseate me. A real connection, that I cherish - and it can happen instantly. But a feigned warmth I cannot stand.

I talked to Susan tonight. Mail arrives for me there. Next week at this time I'll be there.

It is hot and muggy here. It is cooler in Ghana right now - up only to the low 80's - but raining. Looks like lots and lots of rain. I'm glad I noticed - I wasn't prepared.