For the first time since I quit smoking, I really craved a cigarette this morning.

While some people want comfort food or a shot of whiskey when they are stressed out, I want a damn Pall Mall light.

I’m not giving in, though.

My aunt is in surgery this very moment. I know that she’s in good hands, it’s just nerve-wracking waiting to find out that all is well. My mom and my aunts son are there right now. I would have joined them myself, but my mom said that there’s no need for the whole damn family to be at the hospital.

I hate waiting rooms, man.

(Did you ever notice that life is mostly comprised of a series of waiting for things to occur? Deep thought, eh?)

And the beat goes on and we wait…and then we wait some more.

Anyways…back to scheduled programming.

I’ve never had surgery before, unless you count the doctor who drained my infected ouchie right there in my hospital room back in 2014, while I was high on Morphine. Or when they inserted a tube into my arm that ran directly into my heart so that I could give myself strong antibiotics twice a day (from the comfort of my own home) for two weeks.

I’m sure that someday I’ll probably need surgery for something. I’ve been lucky so far in that respect. The idea of going under anesthesia scares the living hell out of me.

I think I’ll feel much better once I know that my aunt is awake, although she’ll be in severe pain and out of commission for at least two months.

I sent her a message via my mom last night over the phone, “I love you Deb-Deb.”

“She says that she loves you too, Mer-Mer,” my mom recited back to me.

(Only my aunt and my mom are allowed to call me Mer-Mer.)

If you’re the sort of person who prays, please give my aunt a shout-out.