Waiting To Inhale

"Quitting smoking is easy. I've done it a thousand times."

~ Mark Twain

I was hoping to write an insightful blog about the psychological ramifications of quitting smoking. Because I am. Quitting. Yes, again. Shut up. But anyway, I cant write insightfully, because I am finding it utterly impossible to focus on anything for more than like, 5 seconds at a time. So rather than be deep, I will take you on a guided tour through my withdrawal! Sounds fun, no?

Saturday Night/Sunday, 3am: I lost my almost-full pack of cigarettes while inebriated at Mcbrides. This was very annoying, as I had actually not been smoking like a chimney all night, and was looking forward to having a few more before heading home. So I spent an antsy hour alternating between denial and rage, hoarding the cigarette Aiden had so kindly given me until the last possible moment.

Sunday: I blamed everything wrong on my hangover, trying to trick myself into not noticing that I wasn't smoking. But it made sense to try to quit this weekend. I'd been planning on it anyway, and given that I a) lost my pack, b) am completely broke, and c) had Monday off to hide from society, it seemed like the best plan of attack. So Sunday wasn't so bad, kind of hangover-y, but not withdrawal-y.

Monday: Well. Monday began like Sunday, in that I felt hungover, despite the fact that I didn't drink on Sunday. But whatever, I could deal. Got some work done, no bother, no bother, la la la. Really, I can use laziness to my advantage in my apartment when it comes to smoking. Because do I really want to go upstairs, around the house, and two blocks down in the nasty weather just to smoke a cigarette? Well, yes, but its much closer to a toss-up than it is in...

...my car, which is where the final bastion of sweet denial fell. I'd been called into ShopRite unexpectedly. Good, because it meant time and a half; bad, because not only was I busy with other things, but now I had to deal with habit demons! So I drove to work, prepared to miss the cigarette in the car, and later on break. What I was NOT prepared for was the shwoop into dreamland! All of a sudden, I was on the 135, minding my own business, awake from a good night's sleep and alert from a good cup of coffee. Adding cinnamon to the coffee grinds makes me feel domestic and also reminds me of "Family Guy." Even though that's nutmeg. ANYway, so Im fine, but out of nowhere, heard this dreamy ringing, and everything seemed to drop, like when you're at the top of Free Fall, and I couldn't really feel anything. It was totally like a dream, to the point where I started wondering if maybe it was a dream. My dream world is extremely vivid, and I often have dreams about driving. However, it then hit me that perhaps wondering if I was, in fact, conscious while driving was perhaps not the most awesome thing, so I slapped myself in the face. I still couldn't really feel anything, but I was at least being proactive.

It wasn't until I got to work that I realized I was probably experiencing the same tripping-out withdrawal that I've known others to go through. I've quit smoking before, but that's never happened to me. And knowing may be half the battle, but it didn't stop me from behaving like an overall freak at work. Noises were bugging me out, dude, and other stimuli were alternately cracking me up, pissing me off, and scaring me. Either that or I was standing still, slackjawed, staring into space. When dealing with the customers, I felt like Anya from "Buffy," trying to pass myself off as a normal human person, with the results ranging from humorous to unsettling.

Monday Night/Tuesday Morning: I knew that sleeping wouldn't be easy, but I actually fell asleep rather quickly, and soundly. That is, until I woke up to a smashing of glass, the results of Chip's nighttime adventures. Casualties: a crystal candlestick and a cheese plate from my grandmother. And also the rest of my night's sleep, which was filled with dreams of being a spy.

Tuesday: By far, the worst day yet. I knew that it would be. Weekdays are an absolute minefield of smoking associations, from the Route 24/Powell Avenue hellhole of stopped traffic on the 135 while running late for work, to the awesome 10am festivities of Coffee Cart Man, cigarettes, and friends, to SCW with Babz at noon, to lunchtime where the world is my ashtray oyster, to 3:30 cigarette breaks, and...well, you can see why quitting is harder for me this time than it has been in the past. And today's been BRUTAL. My legs have been strangely tingly yet numb; my insides feel sort of sour and like theyre vibrating, and I really just want to sink my nails into something. Basically, I feel equal parts animal and master. I WANT something, and the only thing stopping me from having it is...me. Its a supremely bizarre experience.

So, we'll see what happens. I'm not saying Ill never smoke again. But if I do, I want it to be on my own terms. A conscious indulgence of something that's not the best thing for me, but that I could honestly take or leave. Like Godiva truffles! But now is not that time. OBVIOUSLY.

©2006