I quit smoking last November. I had been a cigar smoker for most of my adult life. It’s been a struggle these last few months; especially when the pressure builds. But I’ve stayed with it, or I guess I should say, without it.
I did not consider myself a non-smoker until I pulled up behind a smoker at a traffic light. His hand was hanging out of his window with a lit cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. The smoke drifted back to my truck. It smelled foul. It was the first time I can remember not liking the smell of tobacco smoke. It’s actually the first time I can remember getting angry at the violation of my personal space. I shot this picture to help me remember how I felt at the time.
It happened again today with cigar smoke at the park. I started to cough as the smell of a good cigar drifted over from the golf course. I was indignant. It dawned on me that I had passed a milestone. I don’t like the smell of tobacco smoke. I must be a non-smoker, but hopefully not the annoying kind.
On the other hand, I dream about smoking cigars. How screwed up is that?