When I am in a high stress time as I am right now I am randomly fixated on the idea of having a cigarette. I’ve never been a habitual smoker, but I’ve had just enough cigarettes in life that I know they have a calming effect on me.

Back in August when I still lived at The House I felt an overwhelming urge each and every day to smoke. I planned out buying a pack of cigarettes for several days. After five days of planning I finally bought some at the local drug store. I brought the cigarettes home with me and, in an act of defiance, opened the window to the master bathroom and smoked half of a cigarette while petting Ripley and staring out at My Peaceful Backyard.

I know that same pack of cigarettes is at my apartment. I know which drawer those cigarettes are in. I know they are tucked to the left of all my financial papers. I know there is a book of matches inside the box. I know there are 19.5 cigarettes left over. I know that I won’t smoke any of them only because my lease does not permit me to do so. I know that, even though it means nothing to me, I will find myself reciting the Serenity prayer, a Friend of Bill special, to keep me from breaking that promise. And I know this craving will go away Thursday afternoon when I have tackled my next hurdle.

This, too, shall pass.