Here it is. My brain. =================
My mom is in Greece right now, somewhere on the island of Crete, tending to my Thea Vasso. My Thea Vasso, a lifelong smoker, is in the last stages of lung cancer and is going in and out of comas. This is pretty sad, but being that I've only met her a few times in my life, I'm mostly concerned for my mom's well-being. She doesn't travel well and I think she has a lot of guilt right now for not being closer with her during her lifetime.
But that isn't why I'm writing. I'm more fascinated with the idea of smoking. Sure, I've done my fair share of smoking. When I first moved out here, I found myself lighting up frequently as a kind of sanity-saving technique. In my attic. Because I hate the smell of smoke. Okay, it was for maybe three weeks, but it was a wonderful three weeks. Then I realized I caught more colds from students when I had smoked. Sometimes, there isn't anything more lovely than a cigarette between your fingers. Yep, I'm saying it--I would totally be a smoker if not for health (and cost). The worst part is that I find it completely sexy. There have been many times where I thought a guy was average-looking, but the second I saw him taking a drag, SEXY. I'm not sure why. My parents don't smoke, I'm pretty sure my brothers haven't. Everyone in Greece smokes. Not the attractive smoking of, "I need a cigarette, do you have a light?" But rather, the smoke dragon that would light up five at a time if possible. It's just scary that my aunt has lung cancer because now I know that in my family health profile, I can now add lung cancer to the bone cancer, breast cancer, brain cancer, and prostate cancer of my Greek side. I also know that I'm more likely to develop lung cancer than most now--which means that my lovely, nearly insignificant, mental love affair with tobacco will have to remain a strict very special event habit. ----- I hate the winter. I'm not really made for it. I don't like layering clothes. I don't like the sun setting early. I don't like feeling cold. If I had my choice, winter would last four weeks. See, you would be EXCITED about it. January, February, and March are my most useless and depressing months of the year for me. I don't like it. So, this weekend, instead of just feeling gross about being under 23059 pounds of clothing, I went to get a massage and haircut. Now, I had never had a massage and I knew that the first time had to be special (God, that going to show up on google-searches!), so I went to a pricey place outside of Albuquerque. I stripped to my birthday suit and scurried under the sheets and blankets and tried not to think about how I was going to be naked in front of a person that I had only met three minutes prior. It was completely amazing. The woman who massaged me was so great--it's funny, but it was really nice to let someone approach me with no fear or hesitancy--she was just doing her job. Which worked like a charm. I relaxed and just let myself be the clay to be worked with and for fifty minutes, I felt so completely natural and lovely, I know I have to go again within three months. Afterwards, I felt like I had taken a huge Vicodin and that I shouldn't be driving, but I had to go get my hair shampooed, conditioned, cut, and styled. Poor me, I know. After that day, I feel completely ready to face winter again--my inner glow is ready to shine again. |