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I'm a creature of habit, and I have a problem. A habitual problem. A habitual problem of being too habitual. Routine and consistency are environments I find comfort in, but sometimes I become a slave to my schedule, adhering to my routine with an irrationally dogmatic fervor. And it's bled into my pipe smoking.
Over the years, I've naturally developed a smoking schedule. It started organically and was innocent enough at first. My pipes were consistently rotated, and I found myself smoking English blends in the morning, with Virginia tobaccos taking over later in the day. Such a schedule was intuitive and had practical benefits — briars need rest, and I appreciated the pairing of Latakia with coffee at the start of the day. But it's since gotten out of hand. I've chained myself to habit, and there's no room for improvisation if some days I prefer something different.
What if I feel inclined to smoke that sandblasted Dublin? Too bad, says my schedule. It's not the proper day for that pipe. Perhaps I'm in the mood for a bold, Dark Fired mixture in the morning. Nope, my habit responds. English blends only at this time of day. Someone just gifted me a new tin of tobacco I've yet to try — tough luck, my routine chastises. You already have six tins open. You're not allowed to have more than six available at a time. Like some itchy ankle bracelet, my habits have placed me under house arrest. I'm confined, and I need help.
It all came to a head yesterday when Kaz offered me a bowl of Blairgowrie. I stood there, wide-eyed and smiling fearfully; I had already smoked my daily English bowl. This act of generosity was challenging the authority of my schedule, and my routine waited for my response.
On one of my shoulders sat my devilish routine. "Can't do it, Truett," it chided. "Do you want to destroy your whole schedule, throwing it into irretrievable chaos? You've already had your daily English blend."
"But you want it," chimed in the angel of my desire on the other shoulder. "Kaz is offering you a gift, Truett. It would be rude not to accept."
"Don't listen to that little twerp," scoffed my routine. "It doesn't matter what you want; it's your schedule that matters. It's there for a reason."
Like some itchy ankle bracelet, my habits have placed me under house arrest.
Desire rebutted, "Staying true to your routine benefits you only if you have freedom to stray from it when you like. Be free, Truett. Be free."
"Listen here, you ungrateful swine," said Routine. "Remember all I've done for you. Don't ruin everything."
"Is everything alright?" Kaz said, interrupting my internal debate. "Please grab a bowl. I've got the tin popped right here."
Beckoning from the desktop, the tin urged me to partake in its rebellious bliss. Time froze. All that existed was the tobacco, and the bleak decision before me.
"Thanks so much, Kaz," I finally managed to reply. "I'd love a bowl."
Routine shrieked in rage, "You insubordinate fool!"
"There, there, my frustrated friend," Desire responded back. "Enjoy something different."
I administered the charring light, the Rubicon now crossed, and the devilish voice dissipated into the ether with the rising smoke. I hadn't remembered Blairgowrie tasting this good. I smiled. Perhaps freedom was within my grasp.
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Comments
What German Pipe Tobaccos would you recommend? Where (from whom) can they be purchased?
dm
What German Pipe Tobaccos would you recommend?
@Donald Meyer, that will depend on what kind of tobaccos you like to smoke, but we can certainly get you some recommendations! I am going to reach out to you via email to help further.
Enjoy the articles, keep them coming!