I’m thinking about the fact that I’m addicted to cigarettes. I started smoking 35 years ago. So, by my calculations, I had my first puff at two. Shit, that can’t be right. Hold on. Thirty-five add on 17. That makes 52. Well that can’t be bloody right either. That would mean, I was….. God, I’m 52!

When did that happen? Who did this to me? Some bastard will pay for this when I get my hands on them.

It’s outrageous. I want to complain to someone. Anyone. I don’t feel like 52. I don’t look like 52. Well, when I think about it…

Sometimes, when I get up in the morning a rather strange phenomenon occurs. I don’t really know when it started but it’s slightly irritating. You see, there was a time in the past – the fairly distant past, if the above calculations are to be believed – when I could get up and go out. Just like that. No messing. No waiting for my face to return to normal. I would look in the mirror and shrug and go, like some new shampoo commercial for when you’re feeling hot.

Now, I have to kind of get up a bit earlier and linger about the house for a while until my face settles into all the right places and all the pillow marks iron themselves out. Then, when I look in the mirror again I can say,

‘Hello there. Where have you been hiding, you pretty thing?’

And I seem to be needing glasses too.

All this has nothing to do with addictions. Except maybe, don’t smoke. Ever. Don’t start. Ever. Or your face might need to resettle every morning.

And it’s bad for you.

52!…..I’m in shock. I need a fag. (That’s a cigarette, to all you US patrons. No, really, it is.)

And, really, don’t smoke. Because it’s a bugger to quit.


14 thoughts on “Addictions”

  1. Ahahaha!! Is it your Birthday??? did I miss something? or has nicotine reminded you of your age. 52 years young…turn it around and you’re 25!! there you go…there there…all better. I started smoking at 14 and called it a “fag” too then…. I am reminded that in the UK that is still the term whenever I read British police novels. Oh, I quit smoking several times until, I hope, is the last 6 years ago when my grandson was 2…oh, gee it is almost 7 years now…you are correct…never EVER start.


    1. My birthday’s January. When I told you that I put things in the dishwasher instead of the fridge I was kinda being serious. I’m reaching a point where I can’t remember what got me started on a particular subject in the first place. This is not, in of itself a major problem, unless your audience is a class of thirty seven year olds and you find yourself wondering whether you had actually finished the sentence or just thought it. Sometimes they don’t know. I don’t know if that’s a reflection on me or them. Anyway, bugger me if I can remember what got me started on addiction. Seriously, I hope there’s a tablet out there for this!


      1. I am SO relieved!! I actually write as I speak. When I speak I have friends and former professors, who will say…”you’re going off topic”…ooops, and the peeps under 35, well most of my colleagues are in t that group and when I see their eyes glaze over, I know I have switched topic in mid sentence. I think it’s as we age, we have accumulated too much stuff in the drawers and we need to declutter. Now that is another issue. I wish I were 52 again.


      2. Shit! ( Really, have to stop using that word. But I like it so much).
        You surprise me. I thought I was talking to some youngish chick. Bearing in mind that for me – and obviously you- youngish is relative.
        What I say is, ‘Up the workers!!!’ ‘And the auld yins!!!’x
        That’s a positive comment , btw, in case you thought I was telling you to get it up…. Never mind…..It’s positive!x
        Let their eyes glaze over. At that age, it’s usually because they’re mastu….enjoying solitary pleasures.


  2. I think working with young people helps to keep me in touch with their generation and it keeps me thinking, I don’t want to become stagnate and an old fuddy duddy stuck in my ways and opinions never changing. WELL! at least I have the decency to have my eyes glaze over in private. 😛


    1. Hey, my eyes are glazing over here and it’s got nothing to do with anything lewd. I am up way beyond what anyone would describe as a reasonable bedtime. Seriously. I’m addicted to this blogging. I may never have a proper relationship with my husband again if I persist in this course. ( Forget the fact that I snore like a pig, apparently. Make noises like a wolf, according to one dear child who is getting no pocket money this weekend.)
      I’m basically just a night owl. Which sucks a bit if you’re married to a lark.x


  3. Ok, about the word ‘shit’; you can never use that word too much. It was my very first word. Mum told me this many times, but she said she was to embarrassed to write in my baby book. I think it would have been hilarious, but then I am warped it seems. She put my naked baby pics in there, and I think that is messed up. LOL
    You, yes you, also told me when I turned 50 it was no big deal. Now I get to thinking of it, if I turn mine around (which is not far from really happening since I am dyslectic with numbers), I get the grand age of…wait for it…5 years old. I don’t even remember how to act at that age. I will be forced to stick to 50, at least until I turn 51, as I remember quite well how to act 15.
    I guess being 50 is the only good thing about living at a senior community: I am way younger than anyone else. Bonus!
    When you find the bastard who made you suddenly turn 52, after you are done with him, box his pieces up and send them to me. I have to have my say.


    1. It is such a good wonderful word. I like bugger too. So many to choose from. 🙂
      You’re digging me up ‘cos I told you not to sweat turning 50. I know, I know but now and again it comes up and bites you on the bum. Another good word. And you want to blame someone for running off with all the years in between. Fifteen was a good age. So was 16, 17, 18…..They were all pretty good. But they buggered off. Sucks.
      Anyway, I’m living with the fact that I am 52 years young for the next couple of months. I might just stop celebrating birthdays. So there. 🙂

      4 I remember because a chicken bit my finger! :)x


      1. Well, I turned 35 for years. Now mum says it won’t work anymore. She also added that 50 really doesn’t work either. So, I am not sure where I fit. Perhaps it is 36-40. No, that can’t be right. I like way too much cool music, and I still have magical experiences. There is a particular vid which just stops me and I find I am just sitting and staring. I have to go see the La Reve show here in ‘Vegas, as the dancers are from that show. I will throw it up for a musical vid for today. I have probably shared it before, but who cares. I also read the Modern Witch series and just get lost in the magic of the people and of what they do with their magic (fiction, I know). It is a wonderful community and it feels so good to read how people come together and help each other through their challenges in life. Check one out some time. The author is Debora Geary.
        So, with the love of magical things (including Fae) and fun fiction (not romances which is what seems to be the going thing here for the women), I am still young.
        Oh, and I remember the first time I heard someone say they had a fag in a show. I thought that was seriously messed up. Then when I learned what it was, I laughed so hard at my ignorance. Now I just toss the languages back and forth. I guess you could say I am almost bilingual. LOL


      2. I must check that author out. I enjoy magical stories. I’ve hardly done any reading since I started blogging and writing more. I feel guilty. It won’t last much longer I daresay. I love it too much.
        I’m laughing at the fag comment. Only last week I was talking with one of my classes about’ Americanisms’. They obviously know a lot from TV but they still laugh endlessly at the idea that pants means trousers whereas for us that’s your knickers. So ‘take off your pants’ has whole other connotations. Sidewalk, pavement. Trunk, boot. Hood, bonnet. Whereas bonnet for us is a hat. Diapers, nappies. Don’t even get me started on fanny! You so don’t want to go there!
        If you can fit in the 36-40 bracket I would embrace that gladly and just put your musical tastes down to an exceptionally youthful heart.
        I once was asked during an application form being filled out what age I was and I said something like 28. Then the woman asked me my date of birth and I told her. A few minutes later I had to stop her and correct my age. I was about six years older! I just obviously didn’t think of myself as that age. :)x


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