Smoking. Why I still do it.

I have tried to quit smoking quite a few times, and have been repeatedly unsuccessful.

My generation began smoking in their teens.  There was no secondhand smoke, and when I went to college I smoked in the classroom.  I was a receptionist at a law office, and I smoked at the desk.  It was a different time.

A few years ago I decided I needed help with quitting smoking so I tried the patch.  I immediately began having terrible nightmares, culminating in one in which I was being chased by a giant penis, and people around me were fleeing it as well.  I ducked down an alley to get away and found I was trapped with several other people, all of whom were backed against a wall that was a giant mattress.

My next effort involved my trusted family physician. He prescribed me an antidepressant that had been successful in helping some people quit smoking.  I started the medication, and for a week everything seemed fine.  I was smoking less, and I was jazzed about the possibility of finally quitting.

It was Christmastime, and I had a ceramic Santa about 3 feet tall that completely creeped me out.  While in the shower preparing for work one morning while the girls slept in their beds, I became convinced that Santa was going to crawl from the living room and harm the children.  Covered with soap, I ran naked from the shower to the living room, where Santa stood, unmoved.

  I grabbed a jacket and threw it over his face to keep him from looking at me, and ran back into the shower.

  I had barely rinsed my hair when I had the shocking realization that if Santa was thinking about attacking the kids before, the jacket over his head would surely piss him off enough to give it a shot.  So I ran naked from the shower.  Again. This time I picked up the phone to call Papi. "PAPI THE SANTA IS GOING TO HARM THE KIDS!!! WE NEED YOU TO GET HIM OUT OF HERE!!!"  He remained calm and replied, "This medicine is making you batshit crazy. I will put Santa in the basement when I get home.  Call the doctor."
I freaked out.  "YOU CAN'T PUT SANTA IN THE BASEMENT!!! HE WILL TAMPER WITH THE HEATER AND BURN THE HOUSE DOWN!!!"

 A pause on the other line.  Sigh.  "Yvette, I am on my way home."
Turns out the medication had psychosis as a side effect. My doctor ordered me to stop the medication immediately.

And people wonder why I still smoke.