I quit smoking last April. It was two whole months before I understood the error of my ways.
Lately I'm wondering if I qualify for the esteemed smoker's
title of "inveterate." I've progressed from unapologetic to pathologic. When I know a friend is about to take an international
flight, I ask if he'd mind picking me up a carton of duty-free Dunhills
before I'll ask where he's going. That's addict-think. So is counting the cigarettes
left in your pack each morning, and considering whether it will be necessary to make
a thirty-minute allocation in your time budget for a trip to the tobacconist.
(If you have to skip lunch, so be it.) That's why the carton is such a great
thing to have. The worst thing about a pack of cigarettes (aside from the tar and carcinogens) is when it's empty,
and the carton secures you the peace of mind of knowing that whenever there's an
empty pack, it will be instantly replaced with a fresh and gorgeous virgin box
from your closet.
I quit playing Magic: the Gathering
in 1997 or '98, around
the release of the Tempest set. It was the only sensible decision. The longer
you're in the game, playing other people who are in in the game, the more
pointed your preoccupation with Your Deck. Your deck must perform effectively
and beautifully. As soon as your deck starts losing to other decks that employ new
strategies utilizing new cards in a new set, it is imperative to the utmost
urgency that you get to work augmenting it to thrive in the new game
environment. So you buy more cards and replace your deck's underperforming
elements with them. Your deck starts winning games again. Before long it comes
up against another new sort of deck with another new strategy predicated on
another new batch of cards, so you have to either retool the deck again or
design a whole new one from scratch. Either way, you need new cards and you need more
cards. You always need more cards, and this goes on forever. So yeah, as you know,
I recently elected to start playing again.
Last night, during a moment of lucidity and determination, I decided
I was tired of the distracted arms race paranoia of the committed Magic player and the smoker's shortness of breath, and vowed to abstain
from both cigarettes and Magic until next Saturday (at the very minimum).
I approached the ladyfriend, who is a nonsmoker (and really
rather athletic and health conscious) and for whom "gaming" usually refers to
Bananagrams. "I've made two decisions," I told her, "and I want you to help me uphold them."
"Sure," she said.
"First: I'm promising myself I won't smoke another cigarette
until at least this Saturday."
"Okay. Cool."
"So take these cigarettes and if I come asking you for them, try
to dissuade me. But relent if you have to; I mean, if there's
no reasoning with me, then there's no reasoning with me."
"Yeah, sure. I'll do that."
"Second: I need a break from Magic. I'm swearing off it for
at least a week."
"Hmm."
"So...yeah. I said it. That’s that."
"I'll do whatever I can to help."
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
"You have my full support and I think it’s excellent you’re
doing this."
"Abstaining from smoking?"
"Um. The other one."
"...Your point is taken."
"I mean, whatever, man; do what makes you happy."
"Right."
"But if you're thinking you can only do one or the other, here are your cigarettes back."
