Success finally came when the LAST Mrs./Dr./Prof. Woody declared one evening in January, 1994, that she had by then endured close to 15 years of my filthy habit and that, unless I wanted to move into a cave, she was gonna insist--for her OWN sake--that I stop. There not having been at the time very many, desirable--and, crucially, UN-occupied--caves in the Baton Rouge area, I acceded to her request and submitted to hypnosis.
At the time, I had been a "pack-a-day" (at LEAST) smoker for close to 35 years. My parents were BOTH tobacco users (and it eventually killed 'em both, though after the events related here), I had tried all manner of expedients to stop, on too many occasions to recount. I knew it was NECESSARY for me to stop, not only for the sake of L M/D/P W, but for my own. My office at the time was on the third-floor of the College building, and I couldn't by then climb all FOUR flights of stairs without stopping for breath. I was 46. Not good.
I had my first session on or about January 24, 1994, and my last session--and my LAST tobacco product--Jan. 31 that same year. It'll be 17 years next month (though, sadly, the L-M/D/P-W and I split up a few years later, I am still tobacco-free--thanks, Sweetie!~).
No, Really: (A fucking GUARANTEED fucking Google Magnet! I had over 250 hits yesterday, for no reason I could fathom; more than TWICE the usual daily average...Yo no se')
Reconsidered: I don't know what get's you off, but I need a venue in which to place stuff which is funny--i.e., embarrassing, or painful, or hurtful to the political/cultural opposition, and/or otherwise testing the inner and outer boundaries of "taste." I go for "sardonic," and "ironic," and even "sarcastic."
As well as stuff that makes even an old, beat-up, wore-out, skeptical, agnostic, dilligaf, cynical stoner say "wow," or its cognates...
"He's an old blind bear....alone in the winter woods...with only the smell of his breath for comfort. Too mean to die, too lost to care. But show some caution....he's still the Bear."
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