4:45 Tuesday afternoon found me standing outside an Exxon station at some random exit off of 83, drinking a Frappacino and smoking a Marlboro Light 100. I had just bought my first pack of cigarettes in over 7 years. If I was looking for rock bottom...something tells me I'm headed the right way.

Now, I don't know if its because I was in Maryland, or if this is just what you crazy kids pay these days, but $7.50 for a pack of smokes? How long has this been going on? I didn't care. Took 'em outside and started packing them - whack whack whack - on the side of my left hand. 3 whacks, turn the pack, 3 whacks. Pulled the top plastic off, opened the pack, and did away with the front foil. Pulled out the second to last cigarette in the back left, turned it upside down, and put it back in to save for last. Do adults do that?

There was no conscious thought involved in this ritual, it was like...what athletes call 'muscle memory'. My hands so easily remembered how to hold a cigarette, how to flick the ash and bring it back between my thumb and forefinger like a joint, have another hit, and nestle in between my first two fingers. flick, grasp, suck, nestle. flick, grasp, suck, nestle. Without a blink.

Immediately following the heavenly cigarette buzz (around hit #4) I start panicking. Seriously panicking - like "what the hell are you doing Jeanine?" I'm sitting there, in my professional skirt, blouse and heels, on a curb at an Exxon trying not to flash the people getting gas and smoking a cigarette. I watched it in my mind, like a scene from a movie. Flick, grasp, suck, nestle, sip...who is that girl?

The reason quitting was so hard the last time (which was, say, the 12th time) was because "smoker" was such a big part of who I was. Wife. Daughter. Poetry Lover. Mountain-pie Maker. Smoker. Student. What have you. And to spite every trick in the book - including meds & hypnosis - I couldn't break the habit until I began to build an self identity as a non-smoker. Not even ex-smoker - that's a perilous condition - but a non-smoker. And with one purchase...poof. Up in smoke.

5:10 Tuesday evening found me driving home, having my first-ever, true-blue panic attack. Now, the cigarette so lovingly eulogized above was probably the 12th I've had in the last 10 days or so, so I can't really blame this on a physiological response. I'm driving (back on 83 now) and I can literally feel my veins constricting. I realize my heart is racing and figure the Frappucino, my 7th 'coffee' of the day, is to blame. But while my heart is racing I'm simultaneously SO sleepy all the sudden. Barely able to hold my eyes open. Then I realize I'm sweating. So as I turn the AC to max and put on some loud music, I realize that my hands are shaking.

I can't really put words to the thoughts that were going through my mind. I vaguely recall blaming the cigarette, the coffee, the long drives. I remember feeling sympathy for my husband, thinking "this is a panic attack? this is what it feels like? this sucks! how does he deal with this?" I ended up pulling over and meditating for 10 minutes (yes, on the side of 83, next to an "emergency stopping only" sign).

So, while I'm lamenting the lack of clearly marked "Now entering Rock Bottom" signs, I'm grateful for the arrows along the way. They line that 1-lane highway that divides 'flirting with addition' from 'addiction'. Stay tuned, I'm thinking maybe crack next week.