My first cigarette of the day now tends to dull the information sent by the nerves in my limbs and face, rather than making me float.  Have I graduated to addict from "afficianado" or something?  Also, why do I have the urge to talk to the bitter, mean walrus who has the weekly night shifts at my 7-11?  The woman has grey hair, a bulbous body, and facial expressions ranging from annoyed grimace to disdainful scrunch, and was bothered that I made her stop mopping for a minute to sell me some jades.  And yet, as another side effect of that first cigarette, I felt some slight affection for her and wondered if she might appreciate a customer talking to her to lighten the gloom of a tedious and uninspiring job.  What is wrong with me?