I’m just back from periodontal surgery. And I’m under doctor’s orders not to smoke. It will “impede the healing process” apparently, though God knows, maybe they just hate me. Anyhow, it’s all very unpleasant. It’s as if I’ve been reduced to mere biological life, eating and sleeping for the sake of continuing to exist, putting in time in this joyless realm so I can die and go to heaven where I can have a friggin’ SMOKE. If I’m this way after three hours, imagine me tomorrow.
It reminds me of a woman I met once at a conference, a wonderful, elegant woman in her 70s who said, when she saw me smoking: “ah, a cigarette, I’m jut waiting until I get diagnosed with cancer so I can light another one up.” Hers is the type of elegance that would at one time been enhanced by a cigarette, and these days be compromised by one. The poor woman cannot have a smoke if she is to remain what she is, but see how she wants one!
I’m getting a little twitchy. Fortunately, the pain is really taking my mind off things.