On Being a Quitter: Day Two
Aug. 27th, 2008 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
d_aulnoyMethinks I inadvertently cut my nicotine consumption in half last night: I tried very, very hard not to exceed the two-cartridge allocation, and as a result ended up pretty much not using the second cartridge; I am not sure if this is why around midnight I desperately wanted a cigarette, or why when I opted not to have one, I then proceeded to spend all night tossing and turning. No, seriously, every half hour, on the hour, I looked at the clock. And yet, today I feel relatively well-rested, and still pretty satisfied with the MCs: I literally have a full pack of cigarettes sitting on my desk, and I haven't been seriously tempted to crack it. This is officially the longest I've gone without a cigarette in .... five years.
I started smoking for the dumbest of reasons: I was 22, so, old enough to know better, and away from NY for the first time. I'd had the occasional drag off of other people's cigarettes, but I didn't really smoke as such because - get this - I didn't know how to inhale. So, I taught myself. Stupid, right? I had two reasons: one, my dad's a life-long smoker since he was 12, and as a result, cigarettes kind of smell like ... home to me. So I basically bought my first pack to burn like incense. And, two, I was in a tiny, tiny program for my MA, and most of my cohort smoked. Dumb, dumb, dumb ... but I really got to enjoy it, in a sick way.
Smoking is an oddly sociable kind of an activity: I've made a lot of friends outside of classrooms, conferences, and bars late at night because of this nasty little habit. Hell, I think at least one of my relationships is directly attributable to it. A lot of my memories of happy all-night discussions are punctuated by midnight cigarette runs and exhalations of long plumes of smoke. And yet ... as the years have progressed, some of the fun has gone out of it: for one thing, as I socialize with more people who are out of their early twenties, I find myself more and more alone in my addiction. There are still a fair number of people who share the habit, but there are more who look at me half nostalgically, and shake their heads. Last night, I realized I'm an Agatha Christie title: and then there was one. Almost all of my friends who smoke have either quit smoking, or drifted out of my life. For another thing, I've started to think about the physical repercussions in a way that I didn't use to: my mother's started dropping hints about how she stopped smoking three years before she had me, and in three years, wouldn't I be the age she'd been when I was born, I'd developed a nasty little cough, and, well, I guess I've just gotten old enough to think about the alternatives.
Up until just recently, the thought of quitting smoking panicked me: smoking was my thing! It was soothing! It gave me an excuse to go outside! And yet, now, I still get all that, just ... sans tobacco. Basically, I can be as weak-willed as I want - but healthy! This feels different from smoking, and, yes, like a bit of a "sacrifice" ... but this one feels doable in a way that other methods didn't. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see if there are any side-effects or untenable additions to this method that I'm unaware of ... but I'm rather hopeful.
I don't think this is just a feint, though: I think I've ... quit smoking. I've thrown out my nasty old lidded ashtrays, and sequestered my various scattered-throughout-the-house lighters in a single drawer, and I'm keeping that last pack as a badge of honor. Now, how much I'll quit? That's a good question. We'll see how well I do with moving through the various dosages of nicotine, and whether or not I will ever give up the pacifier of the MC, even if I end up loading it with the water-vapor cartridges eventually. But, baby steps, right? Even after a day, that nasty little cough has faded. Somehow, that feels like progress.
I started smoking for the dumbest of reasons: I was 22, so, old enough to know better, and away from NY for the first time. I'd had the occasional drag off of other people's cigarettes, but I didn't really smoke as such because - get this - I didn't know how to inhale. So, I taught myself. Stupid, right? I had two reasons: one, my dad's a life-long smoker since he was 12, and as a result, cigarettes kind of smell like ... home to me. So I basically bought my first pack to burn like incense. And, two, I was in a tiny, tiny program for my MA, and most of my cohort smoked. Dumb, dumb, dumb ... but I really got to enjoy it, in a sick way.
Smoking is an oddly sociable kind of an activity: I've made a lot of friends outside of classrooms, conferences, and bars late at night because of this nasty little habit. Hell, I think at least one of my relationships is directly attributable to it. A lot of my memories of happy all-night discussions are punctuated by midnight cigarette runs and exhalations of long plumes of smoke. And yet ... as the years have progressed, some of the fun has gone out of it: for one thing, as I socialize with more people who are out of their early twenties, I find myself more and more alone in my addiction. There are still a fair number of people who share the habit, but there are more who look at me half nostalgically, and shake their heads. Last night, I realized I'm an Agatha Christie title: and then there was one. Almost all of my friends who smoke have either quit smoking, or drifted out of my life. For another thing, I've started to think about the physical repercussions in a way that I didn't use to: my mother's started dropping hints about how she stopped smoking three years before she had me, and in three years, wouldn't I be the age she'd been when I was born, I'd developed a nasty little cough, and, well, I guess I've just gotten old enough to think about the alternatives.
Up until just recently, the thought of quitting smoking panicked me: smoking was my thing! It was soothing! It gave me an excuse to go outside! And yet, now, I still get all that, just ... sans tobacco. Basically, I can be as weak-willed as I want - but healthy! This feels different from smoking, and, yes, like a bit of a "sacrifice" ... but this one feels doable in a way that other methods didn't. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see if there are any side-effects or untenable additions to this method that I'm unaware of ... but I'm rather hopeful.
I don't think this is just a feint, though: I think I've ... quit smoking. I've thrown out my nasty old lidded ashtrays, and sequestered my various scattered-throughout-the-house lighters in a single drawer, and I'm keeping that last pack as a badge of honor. Now, how much I'll quit? That's a good question. We'll see how well I do with moving through the various dosages of nicotine, and whether or not I will ever give up the pacifier of the MC, even if I end up loading it with the water-vapor cartridges eventually. But, baby steps, right? Even after a day, that nasty little cough has faded. Somehow, that feels like progress.