The Cigarette Diaries II
The Bishop city noon siren just blared, meaning it's been 5 waking hours since I last smoked a cigarette. I'll not count sleep since that seems like cheating. HELL YEAH! Pardon my outburst, but I am mighty proud of myself and don't care if it seems premature. Five hours is an eternity to a 3 pack a day smoker, and I am sailing along quite well, thank you very much.
The day began in the usual way: shower, coffee, taking hubby to work. Then it was time for some ingenuity, since boredom was in close pursuit. Okay, how about a car wash? Now that would make sense, would it not? Cleanliness, Godliness, and no more ashes flying about? And not some do-it-yourself car wash, mind you, but a job done for you while you watch in superior yet silent assessment. Not to say I was tending towards criticism, I wasn't, but the chairs were placed so that customers had no choice but to watch their personal property primped and polished. It was a blast, and a job well done. Nice.
By Jove, I've made it to 2 p.m. I must sound a tad full of myself, but I think you'll understand. If you don't, then please visit my first installment called "The Tobacco Diaries I."
Here's the link:
I wrote that 2 days ago, and believe me, I was fighting this quit business. I smoked all the more considering a world yet again without my addiction to depend on. Now, of course, my chest hurts like hell, my throat's afire, and well, the cough rivals my husband's. He's also quitting, by the way, so when he comes home sparks may fly. Just teasing, we're actually the best of friends and chose to do this thing together.
Pardon my absence, but hubby has returned from his 7 to 4 and-gasp-smoked 1/2 of a cigarette while at work. Certainly you recognize him up there in this hub; he's the guy with one eye. Well, at least he's honest. Poor guy, I can't imagine working around the hardcore sorts he does while trying to quit. He manages a recycling center which is obviously a stinky outdoor job where everyone and his daddy comes to smoke.
I suppose I have the luxury of controlling my working environment-my home. I write here most days and can cater to my every domestic whim, including smoking cessation. Just after I inhaled my last fag around 11 p.m. last night, I gathered up all my smoking paraphernalia and put in out to the curb. I woke up to a very changed home, I must say.
Yes, I'd say this is an end of sorts. An end to my lover, my best pal, something always ready and willing to please. From the other hubs I've written on the subject, you may be hesitant to believe me, and I don't blame you one bit. But hey, I'm sick of smelling, of being, dirty. Smoking's a living hell.
Due to life, I was unable to complete this on day one. IT'S DAY TWO!!! I survived. Nary a puff, not even a butt. But, they say this week is the hardest, which I know is true from my experience last summer. I'm astounded by watching my fellow man smoking out in public-I watch 'em like a hawk. I used to look that way. Easily and greedily sucking down those vapors. It felt so damned good. Shit, I'll miss that.
That Was Cute, But One More Thing
Chantix is manufactured by Pfizer, as I mentioned in my first Tobacco diary. I also mentioned a support system they offer called the "GetQuit" program. I do not recommend it. It appears Pfizer is conducting data collection via the folks who sign up. I have never spoken to such robotic people in my life. AND they transfer you endlessly to one expert, then another. After 30 minutes of this yesterday, I told them my phone was dying and hung up. It appears their main interest is quoting the disclaimers found on the box, and gathering personal information.
But, hell, the pill IS working, so it doesn't matter much to me. I do wish there were actual human beings to talk me through cravings, but I'll go elsewhere.
Or I'll smoke.
More by this Author
To some, this may be a presumptuous move, but I would like to dedicate this piece to a woman who has written her heart out and in turn, touched mine. Her name is Anne Lamott, and her books, "Bird by Bird,"...
I begin to write this Hub right smack in the middle of an urge to smoke a cigarette. This seems appropriate, does it not? I am in a literal sort of pain as I write these words. If I had a cigarette in front of me, I...
This piece conveys the angst and curiosity faced by a woman beset with unusual physical pain. She learns later that she needs total hip replacement surgery.