Dude, kick me in the balls and call me Betty. It’s been over a week since I quit smoking! *Insert boisterous applause and jubilant cheering here* Kicking an addiction is not for the faint-hearted, and no matter what people tell you - nicotine withdrawals is a motherfucking bitch! Luckily for me I have made it this far and I only briefly fell off the proverbial wagon twice. Twice as in I only smoked two cigarettes in eleven days, that’s 138 cigarettes less than what use to be my norm. But, before I get ahead of myself let me tell how this past eleven days went down.
During the last eleven days I have not been my usual ray of sunshine and my days were not filled with rainbows and butterflies. The thing about quitting smoking is that it is more than just an addiction it is a stubborn habit as well. Now, if you know me well you would be aware that I am a creature of habit. I like things happening in a relatively predictable manner and if that is fucked with the computer that is in my head will say NO!
So when I smoked my last cigarette last week Monday, large parts of my routine were altered pushing me, quite a few times, to break down crying like an emotionally disturbed child on the inside, while outwardly having a glazed over “I am dead inside and if you don’t leave me the fuck alone you will be too” expression.
It is strange how small things managed to push me right to the edge of sanity while the nicotine was slowly being deplete from my system. A lady paying in small change for a packet of cigarettes at the corner store, the pickle jar’s lid being stuck, my computer hanging, my inability to untangle myself from my car’s safety belt, reading a clothing account bill incorrectly, burning my toast and my cats staring at me while I was lying in the fetus position on the couch. Yes, all these things had me momentarily lose my firm grip on rational thinking and pushed me right up to the edge of sanity and then gently nudged me over it.
By Wednesday, to add insult to injury, I contracted another eye infection. So not only was I feeling like shit, I managed to look the part too! To make things worse I had to attend a two day seminar the following day and I took public transport to get there. I despise public transport! I hate it because there will always be that one person who don’t respect your personal space. That one person who can’t shut the fuck up and feel the urge to engage all those around them in some mindless discourse about mind numbingly boring dribble. That person will then always end up sitting next to me! I am like a magnet for Chatty Kathy’s and Stinky Steven’s and my two return train trips didn’t disprove this theory.
Rule number one, when I’m suffering from nicotine withdrawals, have an eye infection, am tired and I ignore you, do not persist in flirting with me on a train. Rule number two, if I sit looking out of the window, not answer your questions and pretend like you are not there, stop talking. And the most important rule for public transport, rule number three, if you are not wearing any shoes and I ignored you on the train, do not ask me for a cigarette, because I will be tempted to kill you, you dirty barefooted tree hugging GOP 17 protesting asshole!
During the past few days I often wondered if there were any anonymous support groups like the AA for smokers. Groups where I would be required to stand up in front of strangers and say “Hi, my name is Pierre and I am a recovering nicotine addict”, to which they would acceptingly respond and be followed by some sad personal stories about how smoking destroyed our marriages, lives and careers. Wondered if there were 12 step programs, “sobriety badges” or sponsors you could phone when the urge hits you to light up a fag?
Fortunately I found none, and it’s probably best as I hate attending meetings anyway, hate having to listen to people tell sad stories and feeling sorry for themselves. Besides, if I had to attend stupid Nicotine Addicts Anonymous meetings it would have seriously impacted on my Facebook, Blogging and Twitter time. But had there been meetings like that I am sure hubby would have delicately urged me to attend them. He’s been such a trooper through all of this. Knowing just when to ignore my tantrums, when to avoid me and how to decode my grunts into meaningful sentences.
Just the other day, while I was cooking dinner hubby turned to me and said “Honey, I know you’re not feeling well, but please don’t throw things around in the kitchen”. To which I rudely responded “I. Am NOT. Throwing. THINGS!!!” Lo and behold, five minutes later I caught myself out indeed manhandling and throwing around utensils, pots and spices. It must have taken real guts for hubby to utter those words to me with several sharp butcher knives just inches away from me at the time.
Till next time.