Confessions, musings, and sordid details of a Generation Y redhead.

Fuck it. I’m totally just going to smoke. There’s no point denying it, especially with the people I hang out with. Okay, really only Nick. But Nick is kind of a big part of my life right now. I only smoke once or twice when we hang out, and he kind of gets that I don’t smoke in front of Natalie, without me even saying anything. He just gets it. I don’t know. He’s just wonderful. Why does he have to be wonderful? I’ve always hated those dumb girls who say stuff like that, but I’m totally there. He’s not presumptuous or anything. He walked a good 3+ miles with me, and from what I could tell, he enjoyed just walking and talking with me. He’s been very conscious of my unspoken rule of no contact and is only pushing it a little, and that little is way less than I would let him get away with. I have a weird thing about being touched. Until I know you fairly well and thus trust you, you don’t get to touch me. You just don’t. I love hugs, I love being touched, but I have to trust you a lot. He’s only just now started asking for hugs. He holds me close for a little longer than necessary but not longer than propriety or my hackles dictate against, lets go, smiles, and thanks me for spending time with him. I play it cool, thank him for spending time with me, and walk him to the door.
The sad truth? I’m thanking him a million times over for even thinking about me. I’m a total head case. I analyze everything in minute detail, both as it happens and in my alone time. And while I would totally LOVE for things to jump right to the steamy romance thing, I love things the way they are. I know a lot of people say this, but if it just stayed this way forever, I wouldn’t feel any loss. I’d still long for more (I’ll be honest—he’s a MAJOR catch), but if that’s not what he wants, I won’t ask for more. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. For now.
Wow. I definitely veered WAY off-topic. Smoking. Yeah, I know. It causes cancer. It rots your teeth. I know all the effects of smoking, I know. Most of my family is either in the medical field or suffering because of their nasty habit. I get it. It’s bad for you. Ugh! And I hate it. I hate smoking with a passion. But I hate it in the sense that I obsess over it. I deny myself until I get pushed just a little too hard. And I’ve discovered that giving in to the craving makes the craving much less potent. I know, that’s called appeasing the nicotine fiend. But my cravings right now are MUCH less strong than they were last week when I flat-out refused to smoke. Last week, just the smell of someone who had smoked in the last few hours was enough to set off my cravings. Right now, I’m surrounded by smokers, and I’m wearing clothes that smell like cigarettes, but I’m not craving even in the least bit. So I’ve decided that smoking is my vice. I don’t smoke enough that it interferes with my life. I don’t even smoke every day. But self-denial feels way more destructive than allowing myself a dirty little habit every now and again.