Smokin’ Like a Fiend
I’m posting from a library in Stuart, Florida. We’re staying at my Dad’s condo, completing arrangements for his funeral this Friday.
I smoke on the balcony of the condo. Being on the 10th floor, there’s a great view of both the Atlantic and the Intercoastal River. The wind blows so fiercely up there that it’s hard to light a smoke. But I manage.
I will call it quits soon–but, right now, I can’t think beyond the last six weeks and what I need to do today. Dad’s final 24 hours were torturous–and in my head all the time. I know I made the right decision, but I can’t help second guessing, especially thinking of those last hours.
I don’t know if I even like the cigarettes I’m smoking. It’s more of a reflexive act.
