I have now refrained from that gentle, passionate love offered to me by my pipe for 8 days. It is an odd, melancholy sensation.... akin to being lonely. I miss the gentle caress of the creamy, chalky smoke as it fills my lungs, the buoying of the spirit as it excites the neurons of those emotional regions of my brain in the hypothalamus, the flavor of it upon my tongue, and the gentle scent of it upon my moustache and beard. I miss the physical feel of the bowl as it rests quietly in my shirt pocket waiting patiently for me to bring it back to life. I miss its warmth and friendship. My moustache is losing the gentle rusty tinge and is becoming the same salt-n-pepper grey as is the rest of my facial fur.

I have indulged in the beloved briar for the vast majority of my life, having first picked up one of my father's pipes as a young kid of eight one summer. I snuck back out into the woods with a small pinch of my father's Sir Walter Raleigh clenched in my young fist and a box of matches. Although the task was hard, and difficult to perform, when I finally had the pipe going, and accidentally inhaled a small plume of its richness..... I immediately fell in love. Pure bliss.

My fast from the briar pipe I so love is an atonement I feel I must do at this time. I hope that I shall soon be blessed with the state of mind with which I can again meld flame and leaf in that lovely bowl.... and at the same time meld with the pipe myself. I am eager to have that time arrive again soon.

Again, I shall write the details of my past week or so, in the near future. The events of this time have lead me to seek a new emphasis in my life.... one that will increase my joy.

PipeTobacco