How (Not) to Quit Smoking: What Will Occupy Your Lesbian Hands?

Did you know that smoking is bad for you? Whoa, neither did I! ‘Cause you know, my parents, teachers, and that lady I bummed a light from on the street told me it was, but I thought they were lying until I sat down and starting doing research for this post right here, and damn! That shit is scary. I’m stressed out. Does anyone have a cigarette?
Ugh, sorry if I’m a little bit grumpy, you guys — I’m trying to quit smoking.
I had my first cigarette when I was 16. I started smoking regularly at 18. I came out as a smoker at 19, because sometimes the truth takes a long time to come to terms with. It was finals week of my freshman year in college. My best friend and I had been up all night ingesting study drugs and shots of espresso, and while standing outside the campus McDonald’s waiting for it to open at 6am rolling cigarette after cigarette, I turned to him and said, “You know, I don’t think this is a social thing anymore.”
At some point you have to stop blaming the big things. You have to stop getting mad at capitalism, booze, Big Tobacco (whatever that means), the abrasiveness of those fucking Truth ads and the deliciousness of cigarettes (mm, cigarettes) and say “I AM A SMOKER (and maybe I’m addicted).”