I recently started working out. I know. I know. I know already!! “What Envy?! You’re already a 4…are you trying to completely disappear?” No!!!!! It’s just that I’ve set my quit date and I need something to replace my vice with. Yes. I smoke. Cloves.
I am one of the very few people I know who literally has only one vice. Well, maybe two. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke weed or do any kind of drugs– I don’t even take asperin–I drink organic, herbal tea. I eat well. I’m active. I’m spiritual. I do yoga. I meditate. I read. I have great energy. I don’t eat junk. I don’t purr over chocolate and I typically stay away from anything and anyone that can be considered bad for me. Except…cloves. Djarum Blacks to be specific.
I would say, I don’t know what it is about them that’s so intoxicating to me, but I know exactly what it is. They’re long and sexy and black from tip to filter. They spell like a Moroccan bazaar and they leave this subtle sweet taste on my lips. Oh MY GOD if they were a man!!!–herein lies my other vice.
I’ve been smoking cloves on and off for at least 10 years. I was introduced to them by some guy who’s name escapes me now and is completely unimportant. But he did absolutely change my life. Once that sweet smoke hit my nostrils that first time, I was done. You could put a fork in me.
I’ve smoked every single kind of clove known to man. From the kind that comes in the tin, the cherry, vanilla, menthol (yuck), OMG there are so many and I, a true connoisseur, have indulged lavishly in them all. And at any cost.
I’ve had friends driving me around unfamiliar cities in unfamiliar countries in search of them. Oh the adventures that have transpired! I’ve paid unheard of prices for them. I’ve scrounged up my last bits of change to buy some. I’ve lost lovers because of them.
Yes, it seems that I’ve had a long term relationship with cloves. A love for them that was most recently put on hold roughly 4 years ago when I found out I was pregnant. Of course I quit then for the health of my child and THE day my milk dried up, was the day I lit up again. You can’t even imagine the level of bliss that day was for me. My long lost love, returned to me. (sigh)
I will admit, to write this post is a huuuuuuge step for me. I have never admitted out loud in a public setting that I smoke. It may have been assumed. Those closest to me know. I’ve even been a clove pusher of sorts. However, I have never admitted on the radio, in a blog post or even to my parents that I smoke. I’m sure they know–we’re just in that don’t ask, don’t tell phase of my addiction. Consider this a part of my clove addiction 3 step program. I admit. I quit. I work out like my life depends on it. Yes, I know. It probably does. Gosh, you’re such a joy kill.
Yes, I know they’re bad for me. But I don’t care. I enjoy them and I love them “like a fat kid loves cake”. –Thank you Fiddy for capturing my exact sentiment.
But alas, as all whirlwind romances go, sometimes, they simply must end. I’ve decided for the 900 million thousandth time that I simply cannot allow myself to be ruled by my sometimes psychotic addiction to an inanimate object, no matter how sexy and fulfilled it makes me feel. (herein lies the psycho part. I get it. I am self aware.)
All seriousness aside, there comes a time in every girl’s life when she decides a change is in order. Like giving up bad boys, hard liquor and carbs. I’ve given up all those things years ago, so the only thing left for me is my beloved cloves. Oh yes, I do hate to finally have to send them away. I am absolutely sure that I will miss them terribly, at first. And at second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh glance. But I will conquer this obsession. I will not allow them to fool me into aging earlier than necessary and I know my lungs will be in high hog heaven. As will my signature perfume–Lolita Lampika–who has constantly had to compete with my spicey clove scent that’s lingered on my clothes for years.
My quit date is May 1, 2009. That’s exactly 9 days from today. It’s also my parent’s wedding anniversary. They’ve been married for what? 110 years? I figure, they gave birth to me. It’s my honor to live at least as long as they have–with a clear mind, a truly healthy body, and one vice down. I’m elated to report that I have absolutely no intention of giving up my other one. I need that.
The moral to this story? As usual, I haven’t one. Just some food for thought. Thank you for reading his though! Peace and abundant SMOKE FREE blessings….wish me luck!!!