But I don't even smoke!

Nervous energy abounds today. For some reason, I'm wanting a clove cigarette and a good smoke. Which is funny, because I don't smoke.

I used to, a little bit. I'd bum ciggies off of people (cloves were the ones of choice) and have a teeny-tiny smoke. Like Bill Clinton, I never inhaled, but there was something fun about holding a flaming stick in your hand, the sweet smell of tobacco and clove lingering in the air.

But the minute a doctor said I should stop, I did. It wasn't a big deal and I probably stopped in time before a full blown addiction took over.

Maybe it's because I'm reading Kevin Smith's blog, but I think that the man nailed it on the head when he described how it felt to write with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. I can vividly picture it (and I do think about it at work, as I sit hunched over the keyboard, pounding furiously away).

Today I wanted it. I can't say why -- just that I was feeling nervous and twitchy and the thought of a cigarette seemed like a good idea. But I know better than to do that. I've already got enough bad habits -- lazing about, eating terrible food, etc. -- that another one is a very bad idea.

But it doesn't stop the whisper in my id. It doesn't stop me from sorta wanting one. The only solution is to sit down and ride the wave out. The funny thing is that simply writing this down is exorcising the demon.

Now if I could just get rid of the mental jitters, it would be alright.