I fucking love smoking. It's what I do. My entire adulthood has happened with a cigarette in my hand. Well, except for a two-year blip in my twenties where I quit smoking and went through life with an unlit cigarette in my hand. Smoking makes everything funner. It takes the edge off anger, fullness, and fatigue. It calms the nerves (no it doesn't) and allows me to get fresh air during my workday (ha!). Oh - and it's the perfect end to sex.
I really believe that smoking makes me great. I would be a miserable cranky bitch without it and my best ideas – and my best posts – come to me when I’m inhaling the sweet smell of burning nicotine, carbon monoxide, and whatever the hell else makes cigarettes such a beautiful, alluring thing. But alas, the time has come yet again for me to start saying goodbye.
My longtime readers will remember that two years ago on the eve of my 35th birthday I wrote about quitting smoking. Yeah, about that. It didn’t happen. But quitting is a process, right? So I’m freshly in to yet another attempt to say goodbye to my longtime and faithful companion, the demon weed.
I’m about a week in to a 12-week process and I have some thoughts to share.
1. iPhone app life is real.
I wouldn’t even be contemplating this move if there weren’t an app for it. That’s the truth. If I’m expected to invoke the powers of willpower and determination and the desire to live longer to separate me from my favourite thing on earth, I’m a goner. But there’s an app for it? I’m game.
2. People who make quitting smoking apps have clearly never been smokers
There are about 5783 apps to help you quit smoking. And about 5778 aren’t worth a damn. There are apps that tell you how many minutes you’ve added to your life every time you don’t smoke. There are apps that tell you how much money you’ve saved. Apps that prompt you to look at a picture of your loved ones every time you want to smoke. And apps that tell you exactly how long it’s been since your last smoke.
Let me tell you something - if you are a real smoker and you’re trying to quit, you know exactly how long it’s been since that filter last touched your lips. The money you’re saving is little consolation because it’s all going to stuffing your face and loading up on gum. Your loved ones? Fuck those assholes. They’re the reason you’re going through this torture right now. And those 11 minutes I’ve added to my life don’t mean a damn.
3. 37 minutes is a long ass time
The app I’m using is a timer that tells me when I’m allowed to smoke. The idea is that a) the time between cigarettes will gradually increase so by my quit date I’ll be able to go fr’ages without smoking. And b)removing the link between smoking and activities (i.e. post meals, post sex, during phone calls) and affixing and arbitrary schedule to it makes it less a reward and more of a chore.
When I first started using the app I thought “wow I can have a smoke every 37 mintues? This is going to be easy!”. But when you are having a nic fit, 37 minutes takes about 2.7 years to go by. I may very well through this phone out the fucking window.
4. Life between cigarettes is kinda dull
I always wondered what people who don’t smoke do. Like – what do you do when you’re mad, or bored, or waiting for your toast to pop? Now I know. You stand around doing nothing. At least with a cigarette in my hand I’m always doing something – I’m smoking. Without one I’m just superfluous.
6. Inspiration lives in cigarettes
I’ll tell you the truth: I came thisclose to not writing a damn word today. I had no idea what to write about and my normal inspiration-inspiring trick of having a contemplative cigarette is off the table. So I was like fuck this. But then I clued in that the pain of quitting smoking is actually an excellent blog topic. For me, anyway. For you guys maybe not so much.
7. It’s not as enraging as I thought
Don’t get me wrong, this sucks. And I’ve barely begun. But I thought I would be a lot more angry than I have been. I envisioned myself throwing things and flying into random rages. Instead I’m just going through life with a lowgrade tightness in my chest, counting down the minutes til sweet relief.
I’m pretty sure the rage is coming. Soon. I just hope Mr. Max is within throwing distance when that happens since this is largely his fault.
And that’s all I got for you today. I know I said 10 thoughts but I only have one thought right now: I WANT TO SMOKE. And although I know the last 3 thoughts would flood instantly into my brain with my first inhale, that would be counterproductive.
Normally I’d ask you guys for advice or words of encouragement to help me on my journey but a) it probably wouldn’t help and b) you guys are some silent motherfuckers so I’ll just close this off with the three words that sum up my life right now:
I WANT TO SMOKE.
Oh wait. That’s four words. Apparently the only thing I can count right now is minutes til my next cigarette. Only 6:48 to go!