I´m smoking my (hopefully) last cigarette of the night. I’m smoking way too much since I arrived in Spain. I used to be a hard and convinced smoker for thirteen years. I liked it, and I never felt I had to apologized for it, as long as it wasn´t bothering anyone else. Then I got pregnant and I quit cold turkey. It was bothering someone else. I didn´t smoke for a year and a half, until I came back to Spain on my own with my toddler and the stress of coming back home for Christmas, surrounded by smokers, made me start again, like a teenager. I would take out the trash to get a chance to have a quick smoke. One week later I became, again, a public smoker. I never smoke at home, in Chicago, and I need less than a box a month over there. Here, I´m going through, at least, ten cigarettes a day. I guess I´m a geographical smoker now. Silly. I´m waiting for that next positive pregnancy test to quit. I know, I should quit way before that, but with the added stress I would never get pregnant. What a caveat.