I thought I had the need-to, need-to, need-to smoke thing completely beat. I don’t crave it with coffee, after dinner, while driving, etc., etc., etc.
But apparently I still do when I’m very, very, very angry.
And I am. Very, very, very angry.
It’s bad enough when I realize that my buttons are being purposely pushed. It’s even worse when it involves my cats.
For the record, I don’t have children. I know that parents will say (rightly, perhaps) that “it’s not the same.” But, given that I’m missing the human equivalent, these are my kids. My kids that I had to give up custody of them after Katrina because of housing issues. My kids that were staying with someone who supposedly cared enough about cats and who supposedly cared enough about me to take care of them.
Lyrical Fool 