Dear readers, this post is about smoking. If you find the entire idea of smoking distasteful and revolting, please feel free to skip this segment (and corresponding first video) entirely. I haven't smoked in over a dozen years and I almost never miss it. Almost. Truthfully, I don't miss the reality of smoking - the smell, the taste - and certainly the dulling of those senses that the smoking caused. I miss it mostly when I'm trying simply to pass the time. To think about something else. To fill my mind with something other than what (or who) I'm waiting for. Like Inigo Montoya , I hate waiting . . . Smoking, while conveniently easing stress, gave me something to do with my hands, other than fidget, and my mouth, other than bitch. Now, I don't smoke. I carry a pen in my hand almost constantly (even when I have no paper upon which to write a single word) and I pace. Pacing is most gratifying in very high heels or, even better, very high heeled boots. (While twirling a...
"El infinito tango me lleva hacia todo" - Borges