Pleasantly morbid.

I have come to a decision. I am going to quit smoking 100%.

Its true that I really only smoke when I'm drinking, however there is something about smoking in a group environment that I find so cliche. And I don't want to be apart of it any longer. I love the idea of a pencil thin, despondent, woman, smoking in secret. An excellent illustration would be Gwyneth Paltrow's character, Margot, in the Royal Tenenbaums. A solemn blond, unhappy with her life, hiding from her family. A lone smoker expresses romanticism and turmoil, while smoking in public only cries out for a need for acceptance. And i do not need to be accepted by anyone, thank you very much.
Maybe I will take to holing up in a bathroom chain smoking. My feet will soak in a lavender infused, warm bath in the sink while I blow smoke at my own reflection in the mirror. I would eat apple blossoms and marigolds all the while, letting their loose petals fall from my mouth into the lavender waters at my feet. It sounds quiet to be a secret smoker, left alone with your thoughts and the simple sounds of ones environment. Only surrounded by your own intentions.
And when the lung cancer sets in you won't be shamed by others opinions or watch them shake their head in shame as they mutter their 'I told you so.' Rather, for a secret smoker it would be a fluke. A genetic botch job. You could embrace the destiny that you brought upon yourself with open arms. For you knew that time would run thin. Maybe you were even waiting patiently for the day to arrive? Fingers laced together, hands sitting pointedly on your lap. You would go to your doctor appointments and do their suggested treatments, accept condolences with an arms length of gratitude, and maybe even join a cancer fundraiser. And then you would go home, lock the bathroom door, and pull a drag through the hole in your throat.