Whither Stairs?

(Image from here.)

Hmm, stairs.  I guess I've been around stairs since the very beginning.  I didn't live in a house with more than one floor (therefore a set of stairs) until high school - which was also the time I first attended a school with many sets of stairs - but I did live in apartments with two floors (& stairs) from middle school on, & many apartment complexes I lived in had stairs to get to the apartments on the second floor.

My iPhone has an app that counts my steps, & whenever I look at it, it's strange when it notes that I've gone up a flight of stairs.  How did it know?  I bet I make funny noises when I go up stairs.  Like dreams dying.

In the last year I lived in Austin, I was a "secret smoker."  I had "quit smoking" in 2005 or 2006, but had found myself smoking a cigarette or two a day sometime in late 2008.  I used to keep a pack in my bag & I'd take a break once or twice a day, take some reading material, pull one cigarette out, & walk to a place called the UTC on campus, or the Undergraduate Teaching Center.  I'd go to the top floor - I'd take the stairs - it was maybe the fourth floor - where no one ever was - & I'd have my illicit cigarette & read at the top of the stairs there.  I tried to do it between classes, but there didn't seem to be many classes that high up in the building.  It was always so quiet.

Afterwards, I'd go to the restroom & wash my face & chew gum.  I was a "secret smoker"!  I don't smoke any more.  But I miss climbing those stairs to get a few minutes to read & relax.  That's my happiest memory of stairs.

Maybe there'll be happy memories of stairs after you listen to this week's show tomorrow at noon at Self Help Radio's website.  Anyway, it can't be worse than falling down the stairs.  Can it?