Wooo Yeah

It's days like today that make me really happy I don't smoke anymore.
I don't want to walk for five minutes in this weather, let alone stand still in it. It's terrible out.

When the weather gets like this I think about an anti-smoking PSA that they used to run all the time. There was a long sweeping shot of the deserted snowy grounds of a boarding school or penitentiary (it was hard to tell which). The wind was howling and it was obvious that no one in their right mind would go out in a storm like this. No one but (bum bum bummm) a smoker. At the gate of this institution was a young guy, shivering in nothing but a t-shirt, slowly smoking a cigarette.

I've always had a lot of problems with this ad.
Number one - why isn't he wearing a coat? Smoking fucks with your circulation. Smokers are always cold. No smoker is going out in negative a billion temperatures without a coat on. Or at least a sweater.
Number two - Why does this guy not stand directly outside of the building? Who in their right mind is going to walk down the mile and a half long driveway to the gate of this thing to smoke? Nobody. Nobody would do this. Especially not in a t-shirt.
Number three - Why is he smoking so slowly? Again, this would not happen. That cigarette would be sucked down in three drags and followed by stamping around inside going "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it's COLD."

I have a lot of problems with PSAs in general. The anti-marijuana one where stoned teenagers run over a three year old on a tricycle at the drive thru? Stupid. Where are the three year olds parents? Why are they allowed to ride their tricycle on the side of the highway? I have never seen stoned people act the way the people in the PSAs do. Most stoned people I know are really into snacks and video games. Or doodling. Or delivery. They are not (usually) going out and doing things. Paranoia and New York City don't mix too well.

I've never met a stoned person who thought they could talk to their dog. Or fly. Being stoned has never put anyone I know in grave danger. The worst that could happen is ODing on Jello. And much worse has happened.

I just wish these things were more realistic.

My Family

No one in my family smokes. Nobody. But just about everyone used to. At some point or another. My grandmother said to me once, "Ah yes, you're at such an interesting age! When I was your age my university friends and I would sit in cafes smoking cigarettes and talking about politics!" So, my grandmother used to smoke. Interesting.

Look at an old family album, a wedding in the 80s maybe, and everyone has a cigarette in their hand at some point or another.

But despite all that, despite the fact that just about everyone in my family was smoking at my age, I find it impossible or nearly impossible to tell any of them that I did. Or that I'm quitting. Part of me thinks that it's none of their business. Part of me is terrified of their reaction. But part of me also wants the recognition for doing something really really hard.

If it comes up in conversation, I'll spill the beans. But if it doesn't? I don't know...it almost seems easier to NOT tell them. Does that make sense?

Update

-I have lost one pair of pants to my insatiable desire for food.

-I may gain the pants back by way of a newly acquired stomach bug/general plague thing I've got going on right now.

-Being drunk and not absolutely dying for a cigarette feels bizarre. But healthier! Sort of.

-I'm saving a lot of money.

-I'm having trouble finding a blogging community for quitters that isn't terribly written.

-I find that blogs about quitting smoking make me want to smoke more.

Saint Tigerlily sent me an op-ed from the Times recently that helps explain why:

A key component of the Food and Drug Administration’s approach to smoking prevention is to warn about health dangers: Smoking causes fatal lung cancer; smoking causes emphysema; smoking while pregnant causes birth defects. Compared with warnings issued by other nations, these statements are low-key. From Canada to Thailand, Australia to Brazil, warnings on cigarette packs include vivid images of lung tumors, limbs turned gangrenous by peripheral vascular disease and open sores and deteriorating teeth caused by mouth and throat cancers. In October, Britain became the first European country to require similar gruesome images on packaging.

But such warnings don’t work.

[...]

A brain-imaging experiment I conducted in 2006 explains why antismoking scare tactics have been so futile.

[...]

We tested 32 people (from Britain, China, Germany, Japan and the United States), some of whom were social smokers and some of whom were two-pack-a-day addicts. Most of these subjects reported that cigarette warning labels reduced their craving for a cigarette, but their brains told us a different story.

You can read the rest of the article here.

Another friend of mine, One L, told me that a friend of hers quit successfully by reading a book called The Easy Way to Stop Smoking: Join the Millions who have Become Non-Smokers Using Allen Carr's Easyway Method.


Which you can purchase on Amazon for about eleven dollars. It seems a little too self-helpy book to me, but One L said her friend isn't into self help books either and it totally did the trick. So maybe I'll check it out.

But probably not. I'm really lazy.

Memories, etc

I don't remember when cigarettes stopped being an accessory and started being a craving. But I remember other things.

I remember the first time I inhaled. I was walking around with my eighth grade friends doing what I thought was smoking. Doing what I thought was looking cool. "You're not inhaling," said a girl I was with. "Yes I am!!!" I replied, and showed off my skills by taking smoke into my mouth, breathing through my nose, and exhaling through my mouth. "That's not smoking," my incredibly helpful friend said. "This is. Take a pull of your cigarette." I did. She grabbed my shoulders and shouted "YOUR MOTHER'S COMING!" I inhaled so hard I felt like I was dying.

Think about it. You're minding your own business doing something wrong and then suddenly...your mother's coming. How quickly did you draw breath?

That's how I learned to inhale.

I remember being at camp when I was sixteen and sneaking behind the laundry room to smoke. Years earlier some smoking counselor stuck a chair back there and every year someone put it back at the beginning of the summer. The only thing I had with me to cover the smell was some orange air freshener. I walked around smelling like an artificial basket of oranges all summer.

I remember being the only smoker in the 9th grade to not have their parents called. I was part of the "smokers crew" as we called ourselves. One of the guys we hung out with received a lighter engraved with "_____ _____ High School Smokers Crew" from the rest of us. We were so proud of our habit.


I slipped up again on Thursday night, but not nearly as badly as I could have. It's hard to not smoke when you're being fed tequila shots by people you haven't seen in ten years. (Don't even ask) But as I normally would have smoked at least half a pack on a night like that, I'm pretty pleased with myself for only having a cigarette or two over the course of the night. Mad that I smoked at all, but glad I didn't smoke more.

I'm doing the best I can.

I am going to light everyone on fire

Today I got chewed out at work for taking a long lunch yesterday. I told them I would be back late from lunch and even told them why. This should not be an issue. It should be even less of an issue because I haven't taken more than 20 minutes for lunch in months, I came in early yesterday, and worked late. I covered it. Oh, and also? THE OFFICE IS DEAD. NOTHING IS GOING ON.

So yeah, after that little run in with management I almost ran downstairs and bummed a cigarette off the first unsuspecting smoker I saw. But I didn't. I just thought about it. One point for me.

Later in the evening I decided to walk from the Upper East Side to Greenwich Village. Over three and a half miles. I figured it would help me clear my head and perhaps take care of some of the weight I'm in the process of gaining. (My pitstop for Wendy's chicken nuggets probably negated that, but whatever.) I also met up briefly with a friend of mine who quit a couple of months ago. He said that the first two weeks are the hardest and after that it gets easier. He also told me to wait until the next frigid night to go out drinking, because I'll be much less likely to go outside for a cigarette. Makes sense.

Things I'm proud of:
Not killing my manager
Not smoking a cigarette today
Walking over three miles

Things I'm excited about:
How much money I'm saving
How much better I smell
Joining the gym

Things I'm worried about:
That I won't actually join the gym
That all my pants will stop fitting
That I will be forced to wear mumus year round.

I made a mistake

I chose last Friday to quit smoking because I had heard that it was much easier to quit if you changed your surroundings. My office officially moved on Friday and I was going away for the weekend. Change of scenery!

When I was in Boston it was easy to not smoke. I was around children. I was around members of my family who, while they probably have figured out by this point that I smoked, would murder me if they ever saw a cigarette in my hands. I kept busy. There was a lot of food.

Now I'm back in New York. More specifically, I am back in my apartment. I love smoking in my apartment. I have very fond memories of smoking in my apartment. It's hard to imagine NOT smoking in my apartment. Which is where the trouble started.

I had one cigarette left in my last pack and I took a drag of it. And it was good. It has also, however, made me feel disgusting. I felt fine all day until I decided to read other blogs about quitting. It was at that point that I decided I desperately wanted a cigarette and found myself excited to come home where I knew I had one waiting.

It is for this reason that I am heading right back to my boyfriend's house which is full of nonsmokers and delicious snacks. I think I'm going to have to stay the hell out of my apartment for the next week or so, or this is never going to work.

The Beginning

When I hit the 48 hour mark my boyfriend and I were in Boston waiting for the T, which is the weird Boston version of the subway. An announcement came over the loudspeakers reminding all MBTA riders that smoking is not allowed in any T stations, trains or buses. This was not what I heard. What I heard was a disembodied voice reminding me, and me alone, that I could not smoke in any of the T stations, trains or buses in Boston.

We got to South Station and while waiting for our bus back to New York City another disembodied voice reminded me that I was not allowed to smoke. When I was smoking I never noticed these announcements, and if I did it was always, "Well, I can't smoke here, but I will be able to smoke as soon as I get outside." Now I feel like they're just rubbing it in.

I know that after today the physical addiction will be gone, but so far my desire to have a cigarette has not depleted at all. I alternate between wanting to smoke fifty cigarettes at once and wishing that I could, for one second, stop eating. Without cigarettes I find that anything I can reach ends up in my mouth. Potato chip crumbs off a friends plate, bites of my mother's pulled pork sandwich, straws, pens, my fingernails. If it is near me it will probably end up in my mouth. I feel like I'm teething.