Before I start school on Monday, I think I need to say: Oh fuck me. What am I doing going back to school at the, still young but not as young as I used to be, age of 34? If I continue to work full time (which I must) and pursue a graduate degree, I probably won’t be finished with school until I’m in my 40s. Not terrible at all, but, admittedly, a pretty big step to take for an art school dropout who still doesn’t know exactly what she wants to do with her life – other than learn and be happy, that is. I have to finally just give into that desire to embrace whatever obscure interests come across my path and do it for the love of it. If I choose an educational major that nets me zero income in the end, so be it.  It’s only money. If I’m fed and sheltered, everything else in Maslow’s hierarchy can be acquired for next to nothing.

What I need is to be intellectually stimulated by this life, and while I don’t have to go to college to find that, I actually like school, especially night classes. They bring in a huge variety of people of all ages and walks of life who have one thing in common. They all want to be there enough that they’re willing to juggle all of their other responsibilities to make it happen. That makes for interesting interactions.

It’s the freak-out factor of figuring out what I’m going to do with myself after school that always gets me in trouble, and so I have to go in with the attitude that the experience is enough. Hopefully, I can continue to follow my bliss after I graduate, but really, it isn’t the piece of paper that provides that. I have to figure that one out on my own with or without a college degree. I think as long as I can read brilliant novels, experience love, make art, and try to improve the world, I will be okay.

I quit smoking in September of 2007, and it’s one of the more difficult goals I’ve accomplished. I first tried the method of gradually reducing the number of cigarettes that I smoked per day, but knowing that I wasn’t supposed to smoke just made me want cigarettes even more. I’m rather childish in that way that if you tell me I can’t do something, I really, really want to do it. The waiter says be careful this plate is hot, and I have to touch it just to prove how hot it isn’t. What am I? Seven? Sometimes, yes.

So, instead, I just opted to quit cold turkey, and it was a roller coaster ride that I’m going to try not to repeat. I was cranky and bratty and ticked at myself for being so dependent on something that I never should have started to begin with…but, you know, at the time that I started smoking, all my friends were doing it. We were goth, and the proper accessory is a cup of coffee and a clove cigarette. I was such a slave to fashion. The thing is, it wasn’t so cool when I got past that whole tortured artist in black phase. It just cost a lot of money and came with a whole slew of other nasty symptoms like yellowing teeth, smelly clothes, and a chronic cough that wasn’t cute at all.

That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy smoking. There were times when smoking a cigarette was extremely pleasurable. It just got to a point where the costs outweighed the benefits.

The primary tools that I used to help me quit were dum dum suckers (which I never want to see again) and yoga. I kept a cup full of dum dums in every place where my cigarettes would normally have been. When I would unconsciously reach for a cigarette, I ate a sucker instead. It wasn’t a great substitute, but it served the function of occupying my hands and providing some oral stimulation. When the cravings were really bad, I would practice holding difficult yoga poses for an extended period of time that required significant concentration on my part.

I’m now approaching four smoke free years, and I’m proud of myself. My world smells much better, and I’m healthier if I don’t count the twenty pounds I put on after I quit. It’s true that smoking kills the appetite, and mine is now very much alive. It’s a trade off, and I’m okay with that. For now, anyway.

Do I ever think about smoking? I think about it less than I did two years ago, but yes, I still crave cigarettes on occasion. If I actually smoked one, I would probably feel somewhat ill, but the thought of smoking certainly comes to me when I’m bored or stressed or even presented with a film that involves a lot of smoking. (David Lynch is killer…) Plus, I have to admit, that there’s something visually appealing about a beautiful person smoking a cigarette. It’s kind of sexy in that noir fashion…until you get too close, that is.