Part 1: I quit.

Dear blog, it’s been a while. I’ve missed you. My inspiration has been at a giant ZERO lately – but, I have a new source of inspiration. My love, my best friend, my clutch, my supporter, and my enemy… cigarettes. It’s been 3 days, 20 hours and 31 minutes… but who’s counting?

I love cigarettes – everything about them. How they feel, how they smell, the social aspect, the cure to boredom, the pleasure they bring to long drives, how they’re the perfect thing to kill 5 minutes, how you always have something in common with the group of people shivering outside in the freezing cold, or how there’s such peace in sitting outside by yourself on a beautiful day with a book and a cigarette – they’re perfect in every way, except for every way.

I pretty much am ready to write a Taylor Swift’esk song about how much I miss them, how it hurt so good to love them, and how I’m better off without them ***insert hair flip/swagger walk***. So here’s my story, that I plan to write until I don’t feel the need to tell it anymore, that will hopefully come with a happy ending.

November 7th, my favorite dad’s birthday (he’ll laugh if he ever reads this), I went online and bought an ecig. It started the night before out of no where. But let me back up first – I’ve been a smoker for 14 years, I’m 28. HALF my life! FUCK! How did that happen? “When are you going to quit?” – soon. “How long have you been smoking?” – I don’t know, too long. “Don’t you want to quit?” – No, haven’t you ever had one of these delicious menthol candies? I pretty much had given up – I’m a smoker, that’s it. When people would talk to me about quitting I’d give them the standard, “I’ll quit when I’m ready but I’m not ready yet” excuse. But in the back of my mind, I was never going to be ready. Some people have deaths in the family, tragic stories that helped them get there – I had that, it didn’t help. It stressed me the fuck out, so I had a cigarette.

November 6th; the tv’s on, I’m in bed, minding my own business, watching Bolt with my dog… it’s our favorite movie, and my head “turns on.” Do you ever have one of those moments where you get something in your head that you CANNOT shake. A feeling, an embarrassing memory, one of those, “maybe if I scream at the top of my lungs the thought will go away” type feelings? If your answer is no, please don’t tell me… I don’t want to know I’m crazy. So into my head pops this flash forward image of me – old, wrinkles, rotten teeth, hunched over… smoking a cigarette. I was the token smoker in the movie, not the main character. Fuck, I looked so gross. I don’t consider myself ridiculously vein – but “it causes lung cancer” wasn’t going to make me quit, but “it makes you hideous,” yup – that could do it! That night I researched ecigarettes… side note, to the world that quits cold turkey – I don’t get you, and a mild but polite and congratulatory fuck you, to you. Like, I appreciate you… but you’re the unicorn.

So the next day I buy my ecig… and then I wait. But at this time, in this moment, I’m excited! I start waiving to joggers outside, because whether they know it or not, they want to be my friend soon. I start putting people in commercials into categories – if I think they’re a smoker or not… nobody was. So I had my last full pack, an ecig on the way and a good attitude! For a whole… I’ll give myself a generous 15 hours. Between the time I ordered the ecig and the torturous 9 days it took for it to arrive, I’d smoked 3 packs and pretty much talked myself out of wanting to quit.

To be continued…


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