When I was in the van accident in college, I split the back of my head open. I was a smoker then and had been riding in the smoking van, but after the accident, I was really weird about smoking anymore. At any rate, I remember being with vulgarweed at some sort of memorial -- I think it may've been John's funeral, actually. She was going out for a cigarette and asked if I wanted to join her. I said no, and she thought it was a Jewish thing -- it was a Saturday and I'd been trying to not smoke on Saturdays (which was something I'd started when I was in Israel about six months prior). I said no, that wasn't it, and then confessed the weird thought/fear that I'd been carrying around since the accident: I was somehow afraid that the smoke was going to float around inside my head and come out the hole in the back.
Weird. I'd kind of forgotten about that.