Well, I'm into my second week as a non-smoker, and guess what, the nicotine patch is a f*cking miracle. If I didn't have this little bugger I'd be smoking again by now, or implicated in a homicide (possibly a double homicide) or, failing either of those options, I would've popped a freakin' eyeball at some point. In between my grandmother going back to the hospital with pneumonia, those chain-smoking biznatches I live with sending me out to buy their f*cking cigarettes (unfair), a root canal and general smokelessness, this has not been the easiest of weeks. Nevertheless, I prevail.
|Me and my lollipops, my lollipops and me.|
Actually, I'm on Jolly Ranchers now, for a change of pace, and also because they have half as many calories apiece. Never said I wanted to get fat. I tried toothpicks for awhile, but it just wasn't the same. For one thing, they taste of wood.
|They're better with beer than lollipops, though.|
I've also taken up (well, reprised) yoga and meditation, because I need to chill the f*ck out before I rip somebody's face off.
Every time I picture myself smoking a cigarette, I revise that image to one of me holding a lollipop.
Progress so far:
My skin still looks like crap. I'm not sure if it's supposed to improve or not, but I sure hope it does.
Breathing appears to be easier, or at least it was when I was jogging the other day.
I can't tell if I'm irritable because I've quit smoking, or if the people around me truly are irritating, or both.
I have fought down the urge to slap whoever happens to be within easy reach exactly 3,427 times. (That's 28.5 times an hour, not counting the hours I've been asleep).
Crazy dreams have made an appearance, but then again I always have some pretty crazy dreams, like the one where Paula Deen was my personal chef. These dreams, however, have protagonists, antagonists, narrative devices, and coherent plots. They're organized, cinematic, and even largely realistic.
|Normally, my dreams look more like this. ~ John Haynes Photography|
The sneezing has subsided, but I still haven't coughed anything up. The chain-smokers think that this is because I didn't smoke that much. Either that, or the coal dust in my lungs is maintaining the status quo.
My friend Amberr, who is on her fourth day today, said on her blog that she's been sweating out a bunch of nasty toxins. That hasn't happened to me. As far as I can tell, my perspiration smells as it's always done – of goulash.
|Well, it smells of goulash to me, anyway. ~ m.louis|
Everyone keeps congratulating me, which seems a little pre-emptive. I mean, not to undermine myself or anything, but I've totally refrained from smoking for longer than a few days in the past and still managed to start again. I'm just being realistic, there's still plenty of time to f*ck up. On the other hand, it's really sweet of them to be so positive and supportive.
|Or maybe they're just afraid.|