THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, September 6, 1994 TAG: 9409060031
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Marc Tibbs
LENGTH: Medium: 69 lines
OK, I've started it again.
It happened several weeks ago. For a while I tried concealing it from those I feel close to. I'd do it in the car. Go out to the back of the house, or only do it when I was alone.
But I can't hide it any longer.
I'm smoking again. What a relief! There, I've said it.
I first cracked when I was working with some teenagers during a summer journalism project. I took that first puff, and though my knees buckled my nerves chilled.
Since then I've smoked more each day, until now my nicotine intake is pretty close to where it was when I first quit back in February.
In the months since I first chucked away those tubes of shredded tobacco leaf, political pressure has mounted. Smoking is becoming even more taboo.
Food and Drug Administration officials in Washington are making serious threats to regulate nicotine much the same way they do Prozac or Valium.
Maybe I can quit again before that happens.
But not smoking taught me quite a bit about myself.
First, I was amazed that I could go for so long - nearly four months - without smoking at all. Those first few weeks were taxing. I had a lot of nervous energy, but it didn't take long before I purged my body of the physical addiction to nicotine.
What was really difficult was purging the psychological demons.
What exactly do nonsmokers do when they're driving, anyway?
My first big test was the three-hour trip from here to Washington. Buzzing along at 65 miles an hour with nothing to soothe me but the blare from the car stereo took a little getting used to.
I tried playing all sorts of mind games on the way, but that empty ashtray kept calling my name.
But eventually, in the car, I was able to do without.
My second major smokeless hurdle came trying to work at home. At the newspaper office not smoking is easy. But home, tucked away in my own space, I could put away 10 or 12 smokes in one sitting during my heyday. I mostly lit them, took a few drags, then let them burn while my fingers blazed the keyboard in front of me.
I never knew what a crutch that was. Not until I tried quitting.
If you've ever been a smoker and a writer and have found a way to do the latter without the former, I doff my hat to you.
Time and time again I'd walk to the threshold of that office at home, stare inside at the work waiting for me at the desk and turn tail in fear at the mere thought of taking it on without a pack of cigarettes.
Not smoking also induces awkward reactions from smokers and nonsmokers, alike.
Nonsmokers, when you join their ranks, are encouraging and supportive. Once they learn you've fallen off the wagon, however, their darker side emerges. They look at you with a sideward glance. Their face shows not disappointment but premonition.
``I knew you couldn't last,'' they seem to say.
Smokers, on the other hand, welcome you back amongst them. They take long drags on their filters, then slowly exhale a stream of puffy, white smoke through their puckered lips.
``Hey, I once quit for three years,'' a few of them said. And the only thing you can think as you stand there is whether there's hope for you at all.
Oh, well. Think I'll head out to the car. Maybe turn on the radio. by CNB