How are you?
You know what?
I really, really want to stab you in the head right now. I don’t even care who you are. I want to find a sharp object and just ram it into your head in a stabbing motion over and over. Maybe through your eye. I don’t know. I just want to stab you … in the head. Call me Mr. Mcstabby because I really, really feel like stabbing you in the head.
Shocked? Well here’s another for ya. I’ve quit smoking. AGAIN. It’s been 48 hours, 45 minutes and 38 seconds since my last cigarette and I’m not happy about that at all.
I’m chewing a plastic straw, I have a supply of gum that would make any child envious and I am basically going bat-shit fucking insane right now.
Fuck, I need a cigarette!
Please don’t chime in with comments like, “I know you can do it!” or “Great job!” Fuck. OFF. Any of that shit gets posted to the comments and I will seriously track you down and kill you. I’ll also buy a pack of cigarettes afterwards and smoke and smoke and smoke, all the while flicking ashes onto your still-warm corpse.
So, don’t do that.
I’ve been down this road before.
“Quitting smoking is easy, I’ve done it a thousand times,” said Mark Twain, and fuck him, he’s a real asshole, you know? This is attempt number four by my count and attempt number 8 million by the wife’s.
She’s a real “counter” with shit like this.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you’ll quit, Todd, but remember that time you drank 87 beers, swore you were going to and threw all your cigarettes in the toilet? And then remember how the next morning you went to the store so hungover you forgot to pants on and bought a new pack?”
Yes, dear, I do remember that. I honestly tried to block that memory, but now, thankfully, you’ve brought it rushing back. Reminding me of previous failures at life is likely exactly what I need right now.
So, there’s that.
If this whole update seems disjointed in any way just let me know, I’ll mail you your own box of dicks.
It IS disjointed. I know that, of course. It’s because of the quitting smoking or something.
The bitch about quitting smoking (and I know it’s different for everyone), isn’t the withdrawal. The physical aspect of that is gone in a few days.
For me, the worst part is the little ways in which your brain absolutely fucks with you throughout the day.
Did you just wake up? It’s time for a smoke.
Just get into the car? It’s time for a smoke.
Just get out of a meeting? It’s time for a smoke.
Want to kill five minutes? It’s time for a smoke.
You can prepare yourself to fight the urge to smoke after a meal. That’s the easy part. But its the unconscious urges you can’t plan for. like when you’re alone in the car and at exactly 3:17 p.m. you brain says, “Hey, buddy, grab those smokes off the passenger seat and light one up, OK?” The suggestion is so subtle, the brain is such a fucking saboteur, that my hand is on the seat searching through used gum wrappers and my lips are pursed before I realize what’s happening.
“No brain you fucker! Bad brain! Bad, bad brain! Shit!”
I don’t know how to explain it to a non-smoker any better than that really.
It’s when you least expect it that some part of your mind says to you, “Hey lets go have a cigarette,” an activity that you actually enjoy. So, the response is natural and pure, and for a split second, you’re a smoker again because right before you catch yourself part of you says, “Yes, we will go have a cigarette!”
That part of your brain is a complete asshole.
I know that shit stops eventually. Statistics show that after like 5 million years as a non-smoker your brain says, “Well, fuck it. I guess he’s not going to fall for that shit anymore,” and it gives up. But we’re not there yet. Right now it’s fucking annoying as shit.
And, during this latest smoking-cessation attempt, I’ve noticed a new little side affect that hadn’t been part of my previous failures. I’m sweating like a motherfucker! It’s gross. I would submit, it’s grosser than smelling like cigarette smoke. To prove that point, smell me now and then let me go have a quick one (Smoke ’em if ya got ’em!) and smell me again. Oh, I was wrong, you say. Well, fuck you very much.
I’ve quit smoking for substantial periods of time before (like when I was pregnant and in basic training – baha!) and I really don’t remember this flood of smelly flop sweat. When the fuck did that become a thing?
don’t be a quitter.
- Quit Smoking: Your Heart Will Thank You (fox8.com)