Thanks to a very nasty bronchial cold that has been making the rounds, I’ve been laid low for a few days, which accounts for the length of time since my last post, but I’m delighted to report that my coughing has abated, and just in the nick of time, since today is, for me, a special day that should be “cough-free,” as it marks two full years since the day I finally found the intestinal fortitude to quit smoking.
If you’ve never been in the grips of nicotine, I know it must be hard to understand how and why it can be such a demon, but if you have, then you certainly know how gratifying it is to finally be rid of a habit that, on its very face, is nonsensical. Of course, it’s one thing to know that truth intellectually, and quite another to gather the emotional wherewithal to act upon the knowledge. A few years ago, in an effort to slap myself into better sense, I wrote a picture poem to make the point. It didn’t work right away, but it still rings true, and in celebration of my anniversary, I reprint it here. I hope you enjoy and, if you’re still smoking, perhaps it will speak to you, too. I hope so.