Smoking cessation aid or mind-control device?

Today my work colleagues and I gathered for our monthly meeting. To attend, I spent an hour dragging my sorry carcass through the bowels of the city's public transportation system, a commute that might seem tame to many but often reminds my misanthropic self of the 10-year trek Odysseus endured after the Trojan War. Regardless, I arrived at work safely and reasonably unharmed -- as long as everyone agrees that the further deterioration of my faith in humankind is not, in and of itself, harming.

NB. I have begun to notice dear reader, an occasionally dark disquiet lying snake-like beneath the surface of my words. Take them with a grain of salt, or a pinch if you like, as you might season a plate of those tasteless frozen things you find in the French fries section of your local supermarket freezer.

During the meeting mentioned above, co-worker Natalie sporadically broke out in bouts of mad giggling and full-body spasms, bizarre ritualistic twitchings that quite obviously disturbed the other members of our sextet. I gave no serious thought to this at first, as she, Jen and Sarah -- and possibly Lara, though I have no concrete evidence to support my suspicions -- regularly indulge in sweets of every shape, size and ethnic origin. Sugar was the most obvious culprit I reasoned, though what followed cast doubt upon my theory.

There was a lull in the meeting spurred by Jen's need to exit the room and the subject of my souring relationship with tobacco was broached. It was during this break in the proceedings that Natalie shared her recent success with the nicotine patch. According to Natalie, the patch was extremely effective and she's been smoke-free since Feb. 20. While I applauded her conquest outwardly and sincerely -- though I must confess to a slight pang of envy at her accomplishment -- inwardly I worried about the possible ramifications of this so-called patch pumping nicotine, mind-control drugs and eco-friendly propaganda directly into her bloodstream as it sat leech-like on her skin.

When the meeting resumed, Natalie's intermittent tremors continued, amplified by a Chewy Chips Ahoy she munched on from the package at the table's centre. The sugar boost exacerbated her wild-eyed laughter and increased the intensity and number of her seizures. I worried about the possible long-term effects of her recent dependence on the patch and how its particulars might conflict with the regular intake of glucose.

Each of her outbursts was followed by a lucid moment of calmness and possible introspection. As she chewed chocolate chip cookies, I wondered if she was thinking about having a cigarette -- or putting on a patch. Or going out and saving a tree.

Me? I chewed gum. And all the while, I thought about smoking.