A Change of Pace

In a little change from all the doom and gloom, I enjoyed the chance to smoke several pipes over the long Labor Day weekend. Theoretically I can smoke a pipe any time I like, but in recent years, I've found myself smoking cigars more often than pipes. I have mixed feelings about this, because pipes just lend themselves to certain activities more than cigars do. Don't get me wrong, I still love cigars, but reconnecting with the pipe has been relaxing and rewarding. There is just a very special feel to choosing the right pipe for one's mood, filling it with the right tobacco for that moment, and then puffing it to life slowly. Then it's all about enjoying those rolling, white clouds and feeling that good feeling of a trusty briar clamped into the jaw.

It feels completely natural for me to sit and write or read while smoking a pipe. I find smoking a cigar while writing/reading to be distracting. I guess it's because a pipe can rest for long periods in the corner of my mouth, as opposed to a cigar which must be picked up, put down, and the ash managed at all times. There's also something about smoking a pipe that just makes me feel more creative. Smoking a pipe actually seems to make my creative juices flow, while smoking a cigar gives me more of just a generally good feeling.

And with that, I will leave my blog for now, to concentrate on the slow and rhythmic puffing of my full-bent Boswell, filled with Boswell's North Woods, my favorite English blend.

An Epiphany!

Living in the same house as your ex is a uniquely confusing experience.

I've moved out of the bedroom, into the guest room, which is a good boundary. During the week, Mr. Ex goes off to work, I do my thing, and it seems like a pretty good arrangement.

Then, in the evenings, or on the weekends, when we are together, it's highly weird. We get along fine, so that's not an issue. In fact, maybe that's the problem. It's so easy to fall into the old pattern of hanging out and doing things together, that in a way it feels like we never broke up.

But, added to this mix is something I like to call "The Silence". The Silence comes about when we are both home, engaged in our usual daytime or evening activities, like watching TV, doing e-mail, reading, etc. It's as though we each live alone. We don't talk to each other very much. We're just sort of each leading a separate life, in the same living room.

Then someone forgets we are broken up, and we talk a bit, but soon it's back to The Silence.

My epiphany is that during The Silence, I feel exactly the same feeling as I do when I'm sitting in a doctor's crowded waiting room, waiting for my name to be called for some scary/painful medical procedure. Part of me wants them to just call my name so we can get it over with, while the other part hopes they forget me and my name is never called.

It would be easy to fall into the comfortable patterns of the past, but as our dear Elphie says just before the end of Act I of Wicked: "I don't want it...I can't want it any more."