Well! Time certainly does fly. A whole damn year has gone by since I started this thing, and I completely, utterly, forgot about this blog! No, I haven't missed it, either. So here's the real shocker:
That giving-up-smoking thing? IT STUCK! I haven't had a cig since March 3rd of 2008!
I'm still reeling at the thought. Smoking was such an ingrained habit, such an integral part of my identity, and yet here I am a year later, barely able to remember the daily sensations and the grind of lighting up. I don't even have those little stabbing cravings when I walk into the garage any more. Wow.
I'm feeling a little bit proud tonite. Freedom!
(it was worth it for those Chantix dreams. Crazy stuff!)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Monday, March 17, 2008
2 Weeks Later...
How rich! It's more than 2 weeks after my first post and I'm only writing now. In case you're wondering why I've waited so long, it's because the last 15 day HAVE BEEN A LIVING HELL! Seriously. I talked to my Chantix rep about it* and felt that my withdrawal symptoms were atypically over-the-top. I agreee, but still.
I haven't produced much except for the already infamous Chantix dreams. Mine are mstly tedious, but this one gave me a laff:
Steve and I are part of a group of people being paraded down a street in Nazi Germany. Our captors are total movie Nazis in Gothic SS uniforms, tossing these brass bombs hither and yon like they're candlepin bowling among the POW's. It's stressful. I find an old pack of Dunhill menthols in my coat pocket. There's one cigarette left. Steve and I share it as we walk, but there's no satisfaction in it: no taste, no smell, no burn of the draw as the smoke enters the throat. Steve and I know this is our last smoke, and we glare at each other, thinking:
Fucking Nazis!
*boy, is she twitchy
I haven't produced much except for the already infamous Chantix dreams. Mine are mstly tedious, but this one gave me a laff:
Steve and I are part of a group of people being paraded down a street in Nazi Germany. Our captors are total movie Nazis in Gothic SS uniforms, tossing these brass bombs hither and yon like they're candlepin bowling among the POW's. It's stressful. I find an old pack of Dunhill menthols in my coat pocket. There's one cigarette left. Steve and I share it as we walk, but there's no satisfaction in it: no taste, no smell, no burn of the draw as the smoke enters the throat. Steve and I know this is our last smoke, and we glare at each other, thinking:
Fucking Nazis!
*boy, is she twitchy
Sunday, March 2, 2008
An Introduction
This blog will probably have no meaning to anyone but myself. It's just a collection of stuff I do instead of smoking, a habit I'm giving up for good (with the help of controversial drug Chantix) tomorrow morning. I'm on my last two American Spirits, and I plan to enjoy the hell out of them.
I'll miss you, my deadly little friends.
I'll miss you, my deadly little friends.
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