I tried to kick the habit.  I knew I was growing dependent, and it made me grind my teeth, to boot.  So, I kicked it cold turkey, for one month.  I gave up my coffee maker and threw out my unused coffee grounds.  I was making great strides.

It was easy at first.  I drank a lot of tea to supplement the caffeine and didn’t feel many hankerings or side effects.  But after that first month, it all began to hit me.  It was like someone sneak attacked me and put a plastic bag over my head.  I was constantly tired.  I had lower energy than a bridge player at Shady Acres Retirement Community.  And I was cranky — crankier than normal.

I lived like this for a couple months.  When it got really bad, I would cave and grab a cup of coffee.  But I never consider myself back on the sauce.  Not even when I bought a french press.  I figured it would be a great way to have the occasional cup(s) without investing in a fancy coffee maker.  I imagined myself wearing a cable knit snowflake sweater in a cabin in the middle of Hoboken while drinking a cup of coffee on the weekends.  It would be a small treat.  Something to reward myself for a week’s worth of hard work.

But that never happened.  It started as an everyday treat, and quickly progressed to not being a treat at all.  It became a habit once again.  I am back to where I began, grinding the beans as soon as I roll out of bed, eagerly anticipating the sweet aroma and bitter-made-sweet taste of the magic black juice.

For 24 years Margaret has braved rain, sleet, and snow for the sweet taste of her tightly rolled tobacco friend.  Nothing has stood in her way.  Not the blizzard of ’89.  Not the hurricane of ’94.  Not the windstorm of ’03.  Nothing.  When policemen, government officials, and teachers flee indoors for refuge from the storm, Margaret bravely opens the rickety door to her modest South Jersey home to have a smoke.

Shielded by nothing more than a bathrobe and a ratty, old pair of slippers, Margaret proves that she is one of the dedicated ones.  It is not an innocent dedication, however.  No, it is a dedication fueled by an uncontrollable desire for the sweet nectar of nicotine.  But even though it’s a guilty addiction, it is precisely what makes the dedication so strong.  It makes Margaret, and the millions of other people entangled in a love affair with tobacco sticks, the most dedicated humans on earth.